


Stay A Little; News Will Find You

by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone



Category: Comics Industry RPF, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cyberpunk, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Sexual Favors Exchanged For Drugs, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurdeliser/pseuds/fleurdeliser, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant Morrison is a journalist churning out typical tabloid conspiracy fare until he stumbles over a vast corporate conspiracy - and literally stumbles over a club kid passed out in front of his door. Luckily, he's the type of man who takes care of strays. Before long, Gerard Way joins Grant's rotating cast of nameless cats as an unofficial resident and lends his hacking skills to the most legitimate story ever to appear on the pages of Helix Magazine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay A Little; News Will Find You

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [jrho](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jrho) for betaing this. 
> 
> This story is part of Bandom Big Bang, and therefore there is art and a mix created to go with the story. The art by [akamine_chan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jrho) can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/852596). The mix by [concinnity](http://concinnity.dreamwidth.org) can be downloaded [here](http://fleurdeliser.dreamwidth.org/184538.html) with tracklisting. Be sure to tell both of them what an amazing job they did.

 

"You've got the conspiracy nutters boiling over, mate," Warren says, leaning back in his ratty desk chair and putting his feet on the blotter. "Subscriptions are up for three weeks in a row. I'm expecting the nice men in cheap suits any moment."

Warren sounds unconcerned by that, which is why Grant gets along with him so well.

"Isn't that why you employ me?" Grant answers back mildly.

"That and I'd rather you were on my side when the time finally comes," Warren says. He does his share of conspiracy chasing, but apparently Grant has a particular talent for finding the truly crazy shit. "I don't mean for you to hide your little light under a bushel, Moz, but this corporate crap is selling better than the alien abduction crap."

Warren's really only missing a giant cigar to chomp to be a proper editor, Grant muses. Perhaps he'll buy him a box the next time he swings by the night market.

Grant waves a hand. "Only because the populace lacks the imagination necessary for aliens."

"Also, they know these fuckers are to blame for their miserable fucking lives and want to see them burn," Warren says.

"And that," Grant replies.

Grant's not a political watchdog. The entire reason he writes for Warren's _Helix Magazine_ is that Warren lets him write the craziest shit he can come up with, and the cranks who buy it eat it up with a spoon. But this story he's working... apparently he has actual journalistic instincts left. Who fucking knew. The more he pokes at it all, the more true it seems which, frankly, never happens.

Grant hates the Corporate Sleaze as much as the next citizen of New Los Angeles, but this is something else. It's a shame, really, because the more he pokes, the more certain he is that the Commissioner is a decent guy. It's unexpected enough to intrigue him, and that's enough to keep him digging.

That, and the fact that Warren keeps him in tins of tuna fish.

"Anything else, boss?" Grant asks.

"Try to interview some people this time, yeah? Readers like a good whistleblower," Warren tells him.

Grant laughs.

"Or someone who can be made out to be a whistleblower," Warren amends.

"Anonymous source okay?" Grant teases.

"Anonymous source is our fucking bread and butter, you twat. Now go do something useful."

Grant really does love that bearded bastard. He wanders past the shops on his way back to Five-Block and briefly considers stopping but shrugs it off. He's itching to get back to his keyboard. He regrets it when he gets back to his desk, and three of the cats are sunning themselves on the fire escape outside his window. He's got one last tin of tuna in the cupboard; that'll have to do until he can go out again.

He feeds the damn things and sits at his desk and writes. He takes breaks for research, always tabbing back to his document to add more. He works into the night and falls face-first into bed at three am.

*

When he wakes sometime around half ten, it takes a good fifteen minutes to convince his body that being vertical is worth it.

Coffee. He must have a coffee, or he will meld into a sentient mutant entity with his mattress.

He pulls himself out of bed, dislodging a cat, and throws on some clothes, opens the door and stumbles. He looks down, expecting another of the cats. He finds a person instead.

"Well, fuck," Grant says. He prods experimentally with his toe. He really doesn't have time for another dead body on his doorstep. It's a hassle of police and paperwork, and he has better things to do. He prods again. The body makes a grumbly noise, and Grant finally sees a pretty face under a shock of red hair. He looks up and down the corridor, but no neighbors are about.

This block of flats is somewhat less trashy than others Grant has lived in, but they get the club kids stumbling through pretty often, which is what this kid looks like. Grant reaches down to shake the kid, eliciting a tiny, cat-like moan, but the kid doesn't wake. So: clearly completely fucked up from any number of things. Grant sighs.

"I'm bringing you inside, kitten," he murmurs, "but if you die _in_ my flat, I'll find a way to make your afterlife miserable."

He manages to get the kid's jacket and boots off and get him bundled onto the couch, propped on his side with a trash can by his head.

"I need a coffee," he tells the unconscious face. "Do not choke or wake up and steal my shit. Try not to puke at all. I'll be back in a bit."

He goes down to the corner store and buys shit coffee for a good price and comes back as quickly as he can. The kid hasn't moved from where Grant left him, which is both a relief and a bit worrying. He sits in his desk chair, faces it toward the couch, and drinks his coffee.

"I'm not a - all right, that's a lie, I am a creepy bloke," Grant says. "But if you can manage to not die, I'll stop watching you sleep."

The kid keeps sleeping, and eventually Grant gets bored of making sure he's not dying and goes back to work. It's evening before he finally starts stirring in a manner that suggests he might be waking up.

"Who the fuck -" the kid croaks eventually.

"Am I? Not your guardian fucking angel. I'm Grant. Who are you?"

"Gerard. What.... What the fuck. Why am I here?"

"You tell me. I practically stepped on you going out for a coffee."

Gerard gives him a look like, "yeah, sure, I totally believe that." And says, "You didn't bring any back for me? I can't have been that bad."

"That was half ten. This morning. It's quarter to nine in the evening now," Grant says with a raised eyebrow. "Also, we didn't fuck."

Gerard scoffs, "Of course not, I don't fuck strangers, but a BJ runs five tabs of Black Ice, which I do not seem to have on my person." He pats himself down sort of tauntingly.

Grant rolls his eyes. He _would_ end up with a suspicious hooker on his doorstep. "If you blew me, you'd remember," Grant says with a smirk and watches as Gerard's expression turns from dismissive to speculative. "I don't have any of what you're looking for, kitten," Grant tells him, to nip that thought right in the bud. Because Grant doesn't transact such things, even though the enameled box on a shelf in his kitchen has a few other things this kid would probably accept as a substitute for his drug of choice.

"So you what? Tripped over me and brought me inside out of the goodness of your fucking heart?" Gerard asks skeptically. And well. That is, essentially, what Grant did. He holds back a frown. Since when is he so damn soft?

"I've been you, kid," Grant tells him. "And I am turning forty next year, and that seems a proper milestone for not having to call the cops and report dead hookers in the foyer if there's another option."

"I'm not a -" Gerard clearly thinks better of protesting the title halfway through the sentence. "I was just having a good time, dude."

"I'm sure you were, kitten. You're welcome, by the way," he adds archly and goes back to his keyboard. He expects the kid to leave then. He doesn't. Grant doesn't know what he's waiting for, but Grant has fucking work to do.

A couple of stealthy glances show the kid still sitting on Grant's couch, eyes closed. He'd better not be fucking dead. He really is too pretty to die, but Grant has no leg to stand on when it comes to ingesting stupid shit for a high, so.

"Kitten, if you're going to sit there, fine. I won't stop you, but if you start begging for tuna, I'm fresh out. Gave the last of it to the cats that think they live here this morning," Grant finally says.

"I'm not actually a stray cat," Gerard replies, eyes still closed. "As soon as the clubs open again, I'll be out of your hair. Or, you know. Something you actually have," he smirks, presumably at the thought of Grant's shaved head.

One of the cats scratches at the window, and Grant reaches up and somewhat absently undoes the locks and lets it in. He wonders what it says about him that the thought of getting fucked up every night just sounds exhausting rather than enjoyable. Probably that he's showing his damn age. Bringing someone like this pretty red-headed kid home to suck him off is all the way at the top of the enjoyment scale, on the other hand. If only.

"What are you doing?" The kid asks after maybe ten minutes of Grant typing up his latest article.

"Writing," Grant replies shortly.

"Writing what? Letters to mama? Recipes? The great American novel?" This kid is a smartass, christ.

"I'm Scottish, so I wouldn't be writing any great American novels," Grant points out. "And I'm a journalist, if you must know."

Gerard tilts his head to the side, one eye slitting open. "Fuck me sideways, you're the guy from _Helix_."

"I am the guy," Grant agrees. He gets the weirdest subset of people recognizing him, seriously, but this might take the cake.

"I read that magazine all the time. Jesus. You're, like... incredible."

Grant laughs. "I assume you mean that literally."

"No, I mean. I'm a programm - _hacker._ I swear to god, I've seen some of the stuff you talk about," Gerard explains.

"Sure that's not a side effect of the drugs, kitten?"

"I'm not a fucking burnout," Gerard says witheringly. Pretty rich for a kid who he'd plucked off of his doormat this morning. "I just like to have a good time."

"Found it yet?" Grant questions mildly.

"Found fucking great times," he replies defiantly.

"And the hooking?" Grant turns and asks, eyebrow raised.

Gerard just shrugs. "I like giving blow jobs. Might as well get something else out of it sometimes."

"There's no money in programming?" Grant drawls.

"Not looking like this," Gerard snaps back. "Should I cut my hair and put on a necktie?"

"You can do whatever you want, kitten. Wanna tell me about some of these things you've seen? Wouldn't want to keep you from the clubs, of course. Maybe some other time? An interview will net you at least a decent meal." The kid's too pale, like he hasn't seen a vegetable for a while. And fuck him sideways, Grant _is_ really fucking getting old.

Gerard shrugs. "I can show you. Wouldn't be hard to hack in again. Everyone you write about is stupid. I do actually need to meet up with someone tonight, but I can come back tomorrow." He leans over and snags his boots, shoving his feet back into the scuffed leather, then shrugs into the ugly-as-sin red jacket that matches his hair.

Grant just watches him for a minute before saying, "Oh, and Gerard?" The kid looks up, probably at hearing his actual name. "Knock this time."

Gerard flashes him a smile. "Will do. See you." He's out the door, and Grant turns back to his computer. Well. That was interesting. A cat jumps into his lap, and he pets it.

When he finally finishes typing up his draft - he has two cats in his lap at that point - he stares at the screen for a moment. He saw the stamp on the kid's hand. The club's practically around the corner. He could go have a drink tonight. What could that hurt?

It could actually hurt in quite a few ways, especially the next day when he has to get up and work again. But fuck it. He's not fucking freelance for nothing, and his gut tells him this kid could have an interesting lead or two. Worst comes to worst, Grant will get his good-fucking-Samaritan-ing out of the way for about a decade.

He drops the cats to the floor and goes to look in his closet. If he's going to a club, he may as well go all out. He rifles past the sections best described as "jumpers" and "bonkers suits" and into the depths where his fingers touch fabric of the decidedly man-made variety. He hasn't worn this in a while, but he hasn't let himself go so much that it won't still look good.

He likes the way the latex clings to the curves of his pecs and shoulders. Meanwhile, the trousers are buttery-soft leather. He opens the little enamel pillcase consideringly once he's got his boots on. He takes a packet of pills and slips it into his trouser pocket. It will be an interesting night.

The club is in Five-Block, just like his flat, but down on B-Level. Grant can sort of understand how Gerard ended up on his doorstep. He heads for the lift tubes.

Grant takes the lift down a level and walks toward the club. The crowds part gratifyingly for him. His press pass takes care of the bouncer, and he adds a little extra to the door charge. The music is pounding, and he smiles. Yes, dancing and a drink or two is just the thing. Grant's first stop is the bar, where he orders a double shot of vodka and uses it to wash down one of the little green pills from the packet. He winks when the guy next to him catches him and slips two more across the bar for him and his date. It's just a bit of acid. Then he weaves toward the dance floor.

He loses track of time dancing. It's good to move, to feel the bodies of others against his. His mind is open and clear, and everything seems more vibrant. Grant catches the smiles and appraising glances sent his way and sends them right back. He knows he looks right good tonight. Maybe he'll take someone home. Someone he's _not_ going to interview. Someone who won't accuse him of welching on a deal in exchange for sex.

He spots his pretty kitten dancing with an equally lovely girl ten minutes later. "Meet up with," indeed. He's changed his clothes, or at least his jacket, wearing leather over skintight denim. God, he's mouthwatering. His hair looks like it's alive, though that might be the acid talking.

Grant turns back to the man in front of him and grinds his hips. The man wraps his arms around Grant's neck, and they dance. He can't help keeping an eye on Gerard, who's flitting from the dance floor to a corner booth or two like an overgrown bird. Partying or doing business? If so, what kind? Grant knows it's none of _his_ business. He's still curious, though. For some reason this boy has caught his attention. Perhaps it's the hair.

"Thinking with your prick, more like," he mutters to himself.

"Did you say something, baby?" his dance partner says into his ear.

"Nothing important," Grant replies and tugs him toward a booth. If he's going to think with his prick, he might as well enjoy it.

They order drinks. A lot of drinks. He drinks until everything is a little fuzzy, until he can't feel his lips, so he has to kiss his companion extra hard. He angles his head toward the loos and gets a dirty smile in return, so he heads that direction. They barely get the door closed behind them before there's a hand on his zipper and a good looking man on his knees in front of him.

Grant tips his head against the wall and enjoys the sensation of lips and tongue and suction on his cock. It's not the best he's ever had, but it's certainly better than he's had lately. He murmurs his appreciation and runs his fingers through strands of curly, bleach-blond hair. He gets his hand in the man's trousers and gives him a quick but thorough handjob. He comes fast and messily, and Grant kisses him again for a few minutes. He needs another drink.

"Already paid for," the bartender says when Grant winds up to the rail, setting another double shot in front of him.

"By whom?" Grant replies, but he's already looking across the bar. He already knows. Gerard smirks and gives him a little wave.

Grant doesn't know if he should go over to Gerard or not. He certainly seems to still be aware of himself. Grant downs the shot, licking a drip that runs down the side of the glass, never looking away from Gerard. Let the kid make the next move.

He's aware that this is not smart.

It takes a minute, but Gerard eventually finds his way to Grant. "Did you follow me?" Gerard asks, practically shouting in Grant's ear.

"Pretty sure I was here first, kitten." Gerard raises an eyebrow but doesn't press, which is surprising. "Thank you for the shot," Grant says.

Gerard is scrutinizing him. "What are you on right now?"

Grant tips his head back and laughs. "Acid. You?"

"I'm working," Gerard says.

Grant laughs again. "Sure you are, pretty."

Gerard shrugs. "I've just had a few beers tonight. You're ahead of me."

"Looking to catch up?" Grant pulls the packet of tablets out of his pocket. "No payment necessary."

Gerard raises an eyebrow. "Generous when you're wasted."

Grant shrugs and watches Gerard take a tab and put it on his tongue. He's always generous. Let the kid think Grant's making an exception for him, though.

"I'm going to make you dance with me," Gerard says. Grant is suddenly both happy and disappointed that he already got off.

Mostly happy. There are certain things that are bad, bad ideas. This is still a bad idea. _It's just a bit of fun,_ he tells himself. But playing with fire always starts out fun. Fire. He reaches out to touch a strand of Gerard's hair. "Dancing?"

"Dancing," Gerard replies and tugs him toward the dance floor.

The floor is crowded with bodies, but Grant only cares about one. They dance for ages. Gerard feels as good in Grant's arms, against his body, as he suspected he would.

"You look amazing tonight," Gerard tells him, murmuring the words directly into his ear.

Grant smiles. "That was the point," he replies.

"I like the Union Jack," Gerard says.

"I'd say that is a sign of good taste," Grant says. Gerard just laughs and leans back in Grant's arms. He tips his head up with his eyes closed and apparently just trusts that Grant won't let him drop. "You're totally caught up now, aren't you, kitten?" Grant murmurs.

Gerard just smiles and twirls before settling with his back against Grant's chest. He rubs his ass against Grant's hips provocatively. Grant hisses through his teeth and settles his hands on Gerard's hips. Not gently, and not to push him away. He's rather glad Gerard probably won't remember this. He's not entirely sure he will. He wants to, though.

Grant ends up downing another shot at some point, and when he's ready to leave, Gerard stumbles after him.

"Look at it," Gerard murmurs when they stumble back out on the street. Grant obediently watches high-speed trams and hovercars zip past. "New Los Angeles never sleeps. It keeps me awake at night, too."

"Perhaps you need to sleep," Grant says.

"Roommate will be awake and up," Gerard replies. "Besides, I live on Seven F. No quiet ever ever ever."

"If you're wanting to come home with me, kitten, just ask."

"I know I passed out, but I think I slept better at your place than I have in… I don't remember," Gerard says. He's serious enough that Grant knows the high must be wearing off.

"Well, it's just around the corner," Grant laughs. Gerard looks more relieved than Grant expected. He leads Gerard to the lift and up to A. He got lucky with this place, and he knows it. It's still a shithole, but it's a better shithole than anyone else has.

Gerard steps close to Grant's back as he's unlocking his door. "How are we doing? Are we even yet?" he breathes.

Grant closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I said no charge, remember?" He walks inside. "Couch is yours. Blankets are still on it, perhaps I am psychic. I still don't have any food, and -" Grant stops talking when Gerard's hand curls around his wrist.

"Won't you let me tell you what one tablet is worth?"

"A night of dancing, Gerard," Grant replies. "Sleep. Tomorrow we'll nurse our hangovers and talk." He hears the breath Gerard lets out.

"Goodnight, Grant," he says. Grant tries to ignore what sounds a bloody fucking lot like disappointment. They've known each other... Grant does the math in his head. Seventeen or so hours at this point, several of which Gerard was passed out, or they were apart. Disappointment would be ridiculous. Except when Grant crawls into bed, it feels entirely too empty.

 _Get your story, and get him out of your apartment, you daft bastard,_ Grant tells himself.

He falls asleep and wakes up with a splitting headache and a woozy stomach. "Fuck," he moans into his pillow. It's the vodka, mocking him. His hard-drinking days are mostly behind him. Except when he's stupid. Apparently he was spectacularly stupid last night. He's pretty sure he remembers most of it. He wonders if Gerard is still on his sofa. He's going to have to figure that out soon because there is literally no way he can lie here much longer without having a piss and swallowing an entire chemist's.

Grant crawls out from under his duvet and is mildly astonished that he made it out of his clothing. He grabs a robe and ties it loosely around his waist before shuffling to the loo. He has a good piss and pops back a handful of pain pills before heading to his sitting room. There's Gerard, still curled up on his sofa under the duvet, his red hair the only thing visible. Grant is a little surprised he stayed, but mostly not. The kid... seems to like him, unlikely as that is.

One of the cats mews and rubs his ankles, and he sighs. No food in the flat. Does he care enough to go to the bodega on the corner in his robe? The fact that there's no coffee is what finally drives him out. He doesn't let himself think about the fact that he keeps quiet so as not to wake Gerard.

Grant sighs. He wants a proper fry-up. Hangover food. He's going to need to make that happen. "Don't steal my shit," he murmurs to Gerard and leaves for the shop. Gerard won't, though. He's almost certain.

He actually stocks up on a few essentials, and he's certain Gerard will be gone by the time he gets back, but when Grant opens the door, he's still asleep on the couch. He thinks back to last night as he readies the coffee and gets out a frying pan. How Gerard had looked at the city with that dreamy, desperate, exhausted stare. "Not your problem," he mutters. Except for how Gerard is still asleep on his couch, and Grant is making enough coffee and food for two. It's in service of his article, he tells himself. Kid may call himself a hacker, but he's just as likely to be a bum lead. Grant's problem - and his greatest asset - is that he always follows his instincts. In this case, he's hoping his instincts aren't crossing wires with his dick. Whichever it is, his dick isn't going to have any actual say in the proceedings, so he supposes it doesn't matter that much.

He hears Gerard start to stir once the smell of coffee and frying things fills the air. "Good morning, kitten," Grant says when Gerard shuffles over to the kitchen counter, still wrapped in the duvet, hair looking like a tornado hit it. He grumbles a reply. He's still sexy. Fuck everything.

"Coffee?" Gerard asks.

Grant points. "Mugs in there, milk in icebox, sugar on counter. Food in ten. How are you feeling?"

"Better than you, probably. 'M'not a morning person."

Grant hums in acknowledgement. "Vodka and I are in a fight."

"Sorry," Gerard says. His eyes are twinkling a bit, though.

"Not your fault. Well. Not all of it. And we'd have to give a decent amount of blame to the blond chap, really," Grant muses.

"Blond chaps are to blame for a lot of things," Gerard says. "I know. I've been blond a couple of times."

"Figures." Grant smirks and turns back to the frying pan. Gerard leans his hip against the counter and practically gulps down his coffee. One of the cats paws at the window to be let in, and Grant chuckles. "Let her in, and open a tin of tuna," he tells Gerard.

"What's her name?" Gerard asks.

"I don't name them, kid. They're strays."

Gerard gives him a look. "Sure, they are," he says and gets a tin from the canvas bag on the counter and pops it open. Two more cats appear from various places, and Gerard laughs when he puts it down on the floor. "Glad I scraped together enough for an allergy treatment recently," Gerard says and runs a hand over the ginger cat.

"Ah, the wonders of the modern age," Grant replies and scrapes hash onto two plates.

"Are you going to tell me that in your day, you had to suffer through your allergies?" Gerard asks.

"I am thirty-nine, not eighty," Grant retorts. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two," Gerard replies. Well, that's certainly better than Grant had assumed, but still impossibly young.

"Better than sixteen," Grant mutters.

"You thought I was sixteen?" Gerard gives him the stink eye.

"No, fuck no. I just - you know, forget it." Grant dumps food onto a plate for Gerard and then one for himself. "Eat," he says.

"More coffee?" Gerard asks hopefully.

"Always," Grant replies. "And you promised me an interview."

"I can do you one better than an interview. I can give you some old-fashioned twenty-first-century hacktivism," Gerard says with a smug grin. Grant sighs, refills his coffee, and gestures at his computer. Gerard proceeds to revise every opinion Grant had formed of his usefulness. He hums as his fingers fly over the keyboard, and within fifteen minutes he's deep in the depths of the MM Corp. servers showing Grant internal memos that make his eyebrows inch up his forehead.

"All right then, you weren't kidding about the hacking. Jesus," Grant says, running a hand over his head.

Gerard rolls his eyes. "Nope. Doesn't pay unless I want to deal with shadier characters than I find in the clubs, or unless I clean up and go corporate."

"So you were doing business last night," Grant says.

Gerard nods. "The clubs are a good place for some jobs. There are so many devices on network in a small space that it's easy to disappear if I need to, and then I can have fun after the job is done." Grant is still rapidly revising his impression of Gerard. The kid is savvy, talented. It doesn't sit well with the kid who landed on Grant's doorstep drugged to the eyeballs. He wonders what Gerard's story is. Grant himself is known for getting wasted and doing his share of drugs, but Gerard's casual hooking, his complete lack of regard for his own personal safety... that always comes from somewhere.

Grant, as it turns out, it bloody fucking terrible at staying out of other people's business. A former lover had told him it was what made him a good journalist and a terrible boyfriend. Since he doesn't intend to date this boy, maybe it won't be so bad.

Gerard startles him by suddenly shutting all the connections down. "Security window," he explains. "I made you clean copies to tide you over 'til next time."

"Thank you," Grant says. "Thank you very much."

"I can come back whenever," Gerard says. "Just ping me."

"I think you'd better," Grant murmurs, "These memos -"

"I know, right? But maybe I'll see you out on the town," Gerard drawls. "I'm hard to miss." He tugs on a strand of neon-red hair.

"Perhaps you will. And of you happen to end up on my stoop again, just knock next time," Grant says.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Gerard slips out the door, and Grant's flat feels empty and quiet. It's strange and disconcerting, and he doesn't like it. He's tempted to put out some tuna again, just to get the cats in the room. Then he starts reading through the memos, and it doesn't matter that it's quiet because he's inside his computer, in his research and his article draft. Warren is going to shit himself. This story could get massive. He takes a moment to be a little worried about that, but really, he's got nothing to lose with it. Grant isn't the type to win Pulitzers, but that's not why he's in this business anyway.

He wonders when he _will_ see Gerard again. The boy was right. He'd be very easy to pick out of a crowd.

*

Grant spends a day or so like normal. Writing, feeding the cats, editing. He starts feeling restless and itchy at the end of the next day. Before he lets himself think about it, he's out the door. He didn't change clothing this time, but he's already kitted out in his favorite white trousers and a leather coat, so clearly on one level he was thinking about his.

He goes to the same club. He can't even bring himself to use his press credentials to get in again. There's no pretending this is business related. Warren would probably laugh at that. He’s all about the end justifying the means. Grant, as it transpires, has not sufficiently succeeded in burying his idealistic streak.

He spots Gerard almost immediately this time, pocketing something before tugging the man in front of him into the nearest bathroom. Grant isn't entirely sure what Gerard's favorite poison is, but if it's the sort of thing that puts him passed out on Grant's doorstep... Grant moves toward the bathroom and leans against the wall. He's not going to stop Gerard from doing anything; he's just going to...keep an eye out.

It doesn't take more than ten minutes for Gerard to reappear, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Christ, he's beautiful, Grant thinks.

"There's no need to wait in line, sugar," Gerard drawls when he spots Grant before Grant has really finished deciding if he wants to be spotted. His pupils are huge; he's already popped whatever he had tucked in his pocket, then. Grant resists the urge to look down; he doesn't know if Gerard gets off on these little trips to the men's room, doesn't want to know. That won't make it easier.

"Can't wait in line for anything if I haven't got anything you'd be interested in," Grant says.

"Who says you don't?" Gerard asks.

"I don't," Grant says firmly. Even if he wanted to, Gerard is three quarters of the way to high as a kite, and Grant prefers consent to these things _before_ this point. "Dance with me," he says instead.

"Yeah," Gerard purrs. "Let's go."

Grant realizes as they start dancing that this is the first time he's danced with anyone completely sober in a long time. Possibly ever. He's a bit surprised that it feels as good as it usually does. That could have something to do with his partner. Gerard certainly knows how to move his hips. The lights are flashing, and the music is pounding, and really, it's easy enough to get into a trance-like state without a drop of alcohol or acid or anything of the sort.

Gerard, on the other hand, is...touching him. Petting him, almost, fingertips on Grant's cheeks and throat, chest and shoulders, and Grant's happy to let him ride his high however he wants but doesn't presume to return the attention. Gerard's touches are intimate in ways Grant hasn't experienced in a while. It's more than intoxicating enough for the night. Then Gerard's eyes slip closed and he gets more... limp. He's not passed out, not yet, but clearly whatever he took is working its way out of his system and leaving him less than lucid.

Grant doesn't ask any of the questions he is too much of a journalist not to have: not _how do you get home?_ or _who takes you home?_ or _who let you land on my doorstep, who was dumb enough to let you go?_ He just says, "Time for bed, kitten."

"Mmm," Gerard murmurs with a slight smile and lets Grant help him out of the club and to the lift, up a level.

"Will your roommate worry?" Grant can't help asking, and Gerard snorts. Grant supposes that's an answer. He presses his thumb to the plate, and the door to his flat opens for them. He sits Gerard on the couch and watches as he starts listing to the side. "No, not yet," Grant orders. "You're going to drink some water for me first."

"Why are you doing this?" Gerard mumbles when Grant hands him a bottle of water.

"Hell if I know," Grant replies. Gerard drinks his water dutifully, and then Grant lets him lie down.

"No dying on my couch," Grant orders gently. Gerard just mumbles and turns his face into a pillow. Grant covers him up. Mumbling and aided but fairly natural sleep is better than complete unresponsiveness and passing out, Grant reasons. That won't stop him from checking on Gerard throughout the night. He picks up his tablet and heads to his room, relocating a couple of cats, who promptly curl up by his feet like furry sentinels.

He reads, does more research, and dozes periodically for a couple of hours before he gets up and checks on Gerard the first time. He shakes Gerard's shoulder, and Gerard cracks an eye open at him.

"'M'not dead."

Conscious and coherent. All right then. Maybe Grant's being a little too jumpy. He goes back to bed and pulls the duvet over his head.

He sleeps until he startles awake at five am for no particular reason that he can discern. He gets up again, and Gerard is snoring softly between murmured gibberish. Clearly dreaming. A cat mews at him from the kitchen. "Bugger off, it's barely morning," he mumbles and goes back to bed.

He wakes again to the feel of his mattress shifting, to a hand sliding up his chest and hot breath on his cheek. Fuck, he's not awake enough to convince himself he doesn't want this. He does. He wants it rather a lot, but he swallows and bites his cheek and pushes Gerard's hands away. "No," he whispers.

"When are you going to say yes?" Gerard whispers back, sounding annoyed.

"When you stop treating it like payment for services rendered," Grant retorts and rolls over. He expects Gerard to get out of the bed then, but he doesn't.

"Your couch sucks," he mumbles.

"Terribly sorry," Grant says and pulls the covers back up. "I don't know what time it is, but it's too early."

"It's usually too early," Gerard grumbles back. He sounds like he's got his face smashed into a pillow. Grant sighs and concentrates on slowing his breathing.

He goes back to sleep, and when he wakes, this time for the final time because the sun is high enough that it's shining through the window and into his eyes, Gerard is curled against him. Like a kitten. There has never been a more apt description. Grant sighs. He's such a sucker. At least Gerard knows where he stands, now.

Grant opens his eyes and looks at Gerard. His hair is practically glowing in the sunbeam, and he's absurdly pretty. Grant reaches out, wants to tuck a stray lock behind his ear, but stops himself and gets out of bed instead. He starts the coffee and turns his computer on. The cats wind around his legs, and he has to laugh. "Alright you little fuckers. I'll feed you." They're not really strays anymore, and he knows it. Something is still keeping him from giving up and naming them. He's not entirely sure what. He opens their tin of tuna and stoops down to pet them just as Gerard stumbles into the kitchen.

"Coffee," he demands.

"Good morning to you, too," Grant drawls.

"Coffee, please?" Gerard amends. "Also, good morning."

"It's almost done brewing," Grant says. "You know where everything is."

"Sure do," Gerard says, squeezing by Grant. "Food?"

"Toast and jam," Grant says.

"Kay," Gerard replies and pokes around the counters until he finds Grant's bread box. He sets some bread toasting. Apparently they're not talking about Gerard crawling into his bed. Well. Fine by Grant.

Gerard fixes himself a cup of coffee and looks over his shoulder at Grant and fixes him one too. He butters the toast and spreads jam on it and gives it to Grant, then sets more bread toasting.

"Where are you with the article?" Gerard asks around a mouthful of toast once they're finally both leaning on the counter with food.

"About to send it to my editor," Grant replies. "Would you like to read it?"

"Yes, please." Gerard snags his desk chair and rolls close to the screen.

Grant leans in and opens the file. Gerard is close, and Grant has a crazy impulse to kiss his cheek. He doesn't, just opens the file and moves back.

Gerard nods a few times as he reads, frowns a few more times. Finally he leans back and looks at Grant. "It's not just this one article, is it?"

Grant shakes his head. "The memos you found are just the tip of the iceberg," Grant says. "It'll be at least three. Maybe more, depending on what else we can find."

"We?" Gerard asks around another mouthful of toast.

"Yes, we. I need an assistant."

Gerard's eyebrows go up. "Really?"

"Yes. If you'll be my research assistant, I think I can get to the bottom of this," Grant murmurs. "I have discretionary funds from my editor for these kinds of things. Under the table, of course, unless you have a desperate desire to work for _Helix_ , instead of just for me."

"I… maybe? Doesn't have to be right now, though," Gerard says. "I… that'd be really cool."

Grant is secretly pretty pleased that he read the situation right. The kid wants something to do, something that means something. His gut instinct pays off again. "I work days, though," Grant adds mildly. "Well, mostly."

"I can… I mean. I can do that," Gerard says. "You won't need me _every_ day, right?"

"Perhaps not," Grant says. "I imagine that will be at least partially up to you."

Gerard nods. "Okay. Okay, that sounds good. Any other terms?"

"Not a term, but - I'll bear the brunt of the recognition, but if you're hanging about with me, be prepared to be on everyone's shit list."

"Yeah. I already thought about that a little. I can take it."

"You're quite brave," Grant murmurs.

"Or dumb," Gerard laughs.

"Or that," Grant says with a smile. "We'll go with the first until proven otherwise."

"Well, then. Guess since I'm already here, we can get to work," Gerard says, draining his coffee. His fingers start flying again, and before Grant can blink, he's back in the depths of the MM Corp. servers. "You might need to add a few parts to your series," he says after a while. "I found a new cache of memos." He makes an unhappy noise.

"Isn't that good?" Grant asks.

"Well, it will be. I just need equipment you don't have, Grant. Feel like taking a field trip to my place?"

Grant shrugs. "Sure."

Gerard shuts things down and leads Grant out the door and down five levels. They cram into a full tram headed for Seven-Block. The crowd pushes them together, and Gerard smiles up at him, apologetic - maybe. It's one of the longer tram rides Grant has taken in a while. Clearly Gerard takes it almost daily.

Seven, when they get there, is not nice. Grant has seen worse, back in New Britain, maybe even back east, but he finds himself falling back into long-ago patterns of watchfulness. Gerard is acting much the same, and the walk to his flat is swift. He presses his thumb to the plate and swears when it flashes red. He does it again three times before the door consents to open for them.

"Landlord sucks," Gerard mutters. He leads Grant through a sparse sitting room and back to a door with an additional, clearly homemade, print plate. "Roommate's friends also suck," Gerard says with a scowl and presses his thumb to the plate. This one opens easily. "I could fix the other, but doing any unauthorized maintenance is against our lease."

"Too bad," Grant says. The room Gerard leads him into is clearly more of a repository than anything else, clothing tossed in corners, bed unmade. The corner of electronics is the only thing that shows signs of care. "I hope you don't need to move all of that," Grant murmurs.

Gerard laughs. "No, I'm not going to make you haul it all on the trams." He picks up several items, shoves them in a bag, and hands it to Grant. He fills another bag and slings it over his shoulder. "This is enough for now."

"Are you going to bring some clothing?" Grant asks, just to see.

"Um. If you think I should," Gerard says. He's already eyeing the piles, though.

"How many nights have you slept here this week? This month, even?" Grant asks.

"Uuum. Maybe four? In the last month," Gerard says. "And I mostly just lie awake, so it's not really sleeping."

"Get clothing," Grant says gently. Just temporarily, he reminds himself. If nothing else, perhaps he can help Gerard find somewhere better. He knows people. One of them must need a roommate. Gerard nods and packs another bag. "Does your roommate work?" Grant asks. "How do you know him?"

Gerard shrugs. "I don't know what he does. Honestly, I don't want to know as long as he keeps paying his share of the rent. And I know him because he was the only person who had a place available in my price range when I moved to New LA."

"How long ago was that?" Grant asks as he follows Gerard out and watches him lock up.

"Three years," Gerard replies. "And before you ask, I'm from Jersey, and I left my parents and little brother behind and moved here when my grandma died."

"Sorry," Grant says, although Gerard doesn't sound particularly mad about the questioning. "Journalist, you know?"

Gerard smiles slightly and shrugs. "I don't mind. Sometimes I regret it, sometimes I don't. Usually it's when I'm talking to my brother that I miss home. Most of the time, it's good to have something new. Jersey gets its claws in you."

"Some places are like that."

The tram queue has thinned out a bit, and they both get seats.

"So what about you? What's a Scotsman doing in New LA?" Gerard asks.

"It's just where I landed when my bank account emptied out and my wanderlust subsided, really," Grant replies. "Glasgow's full of people trying to figure out how to leave. At least it was."

"Sounds like Jersey," Gerard says. "I think about going back often, but I never do." They fall silent as a transit official walks through the tram car, watching the progress of the uniformed man until he's cleared the opposite doors. Gerard looks cool and calm, despite the bags of equipment at their feet. "No one ever looks past the hair," he murmurs. "It's like hiding in plain sight."

"Is that why?" Grant asks.

"Nah," Gerard says. "I just like the way it looks. I'll take the side benefits though. It also means people underestimate me, which is useful." Grant doesn't know why Gerard's savvy keeps surprising him, but it really does.

"I suppose I'm guilty of that," Grant says.

"Nah, you're just careful. Actually I think you might be overestimating me," he adds quietly.

"I don't think I am," Grant says. "But I guess we'll see, won't we."

"Guess so."

Gerard seems pretty wide awake by now. Grant wonders if he'll go out tonight. Wonders why he hasn't been taking sleeping pills. Wonders if he will go back to the couch tonight.

They get back to Five and go up the lifts. Grant stops them at the door of his flat and programs Gerard into the thumb plate. He doesn't think about what that might mean until Gerard gives him a surprised look. "I've told you enough times not to steal my shit. I expect I've implanted a subliminal message by now," Grant says wryly. "Besides, I'm fairly certain the stuff in your bags is worth more than most of my things."

Gerard smiles. "Why do you think I keep it in an apartment I never go to? I'm not… not usually really stupid, but I don't… I'd rather not risk selling something important when I'm looking for…" he trails off. "I'm really not going to steal anything. Or sell any of my shit because I'm jonesing. Not if it's here."

Grant just nods and drops his bag, goes into the kitchen, and starts a fresh pot of coffee. He doesn't know what to say to that. His entire sordid history with pills was carried out in the name of exploration, not addiction. He wonders if Gerard doesn't underestimate himself, though. He supposes he'll find that out, too.

"I'll run to the shops while you get yourself set up," he says. Gerard nods absently as he pulls various pieces of equipment from his bag and sets it on Grant's desk. Grant gets twice the usual amount of everything while he's out and picks up a pizza on the way back.

"I can chip in," Gerard mumbles when Grant sets a piece of pizza on the desk for him.

"Not necessary. Stipend, remember," Grant says. "I would like to take you to meet Warren, though," he adds.

"Warren Ellis." Gerard makes a face. "And if he hates me?"

"Warren hates everyone," Grant laughs. "Or so he claims. Well. He has a soft spot for Jamie, but he even claims to hate Jamie."

Gerard just shakes his head. "I'm going to concentrate on this shell company for a while. I'll be off your computer soon."

"I can work on the tablet if I feel moved to," Grant says. "More coffee?"

"Always more coffee."

*

That night, Gerard ends up in Grant's bed halfway through the night. "Back hurts," he murmurs. He curls up and doesn't attempt to touch Grant in any way. Except they wake up wrapped around each other. Grant is man enough to admit he's a cuddler, platonic or otherwise. Plus there are typically one to four cats in the bed. They're still in the bed, really, just forced to the foot.

Grant rolls out of bed and prepares for the day. Gerard joins him eventually, and then there's coffee and breakfast. Grant gives his draft one last pass and puts it on a chip to take to Warren. Usually he just sends his articles electronically, but he may as well introduce Gerard to him today. Gerard seems nervous. Grant hopes Jamie is in the office. It might do him good.

The tram ride to Three-Block goes quickly, and when they walk into the office, Jamie greets them from his desk with a grin. "How are you, mate?" he asks.

"Same as ever," Grant replies.

"Your same as ever is always more interesting than mine. Who've you dragged along here?"

"This is Gerard, my new assistant."

"Jamie McKelvie. Pleased to meet you, Gerard. I'd tell you to get out now while you still can, but you have the look of someone who _wants_ adventure," Jamie says with a teasing smile.

"Gerard Way. Nice to meet you, too," Gerard replies with a wide smile.

"How's the boss?" Grant asks.

"Surly as ever," Jamie replies. "He really doesn't appreciate the finer things in life. Like the best tram seat."

Grant just sighs. "Jamie does all of the layout designs and most of the graphics," he explains and watches Gerard's face light up.

"Really? That's fucking awesome. I'd have gone to art school if I could have. Was accepted and everything," Gerard says. Somehow, Grant's not surprised.

"Gerard is a computer wizard," Grant tells Jamie. "We're working on the new story series together."

"'M not a wizard," Gerard objects, but it's pretty weak.

Jamie just grins. "I can see how a computer wizard would come in useful for that."

"What's the bloody racket about?" Warren says, poking his head out of his office. "Oh, it's _you,_ " he says when he spots Grant. "If you don't have anything for me, you can bugger off."

"I am personally delivering my copy, Warren. As a sign of my devotion. And I've brought someone for you to meet." Warren actually cracks a bit of a smile at that.

"Let's see it, then. And who am I meeting?"

"This is Gerard. He's a hacker, and I've hired him to help me with the research for the Sleaze series."

"Oh, excellent. Lord knows it'd be ages if we left all the evidence gathering up to you," Warren teases.

Grant hands over the chip. "Voila." Warren makes the data transfer and starts reading.

"Grant, this is good. This is very good." He looks up at Gerard. "You found all this for him?"

"Most of it," Gerard nods. "He made a lot of the connections with stuff he'd already found after I pulled up the memos."

"Don't let him make you think he didn't make a lot of connections himself before handing it all over," Grant says. "There was an absurd amount of unrelated data."

"It's taken him five years to draw on that stipend," Warren says, leaning back in his chair. "Looks like he found a worthwhile reason. Keep it up, boys."

Grant steals a look at Gerard. He's got a pleased smile on his face. Grant turns back to Warren. "Next article is in the works. Hopefully be done by the end of next week."

"You boys feeling the pinch yet?" Warren asks. "Jamie says dodgy characters have been hanging about. Dodgier than him, anyway."

"Nothing unusual so far," Grant days. "I'm expecting it, though. MM isn't exactly known for their gentle hand."

"Not at all, not at all. He courts trouble, you know," Warren says to Gerard.

"I know. I'm a subscriber," Gerard says.

"How did you _find_ this one, Grant?" Warren asks.

"Tripped over him," Grant answers honestly.

"Lovely. Of course. To be expected." Warren yells to Jamie, "Did you offer them tea, McKelvie?"

" _You_ interrupted before I could get to it," Jamie replies with a sniff.

"Too slow then, eh?" Warren says.

"Fuck you, Ellis," Jamie retorts. "D'you want tea?" he asks them.

"That would be lovely, Jamie. Let me give you a hand." Grant walks out into the outer office and starts reaching down mugs from a shelf. "How's Kieron?"

"He's good!" Jamie replies enthusiastically. "Working hard as ever."

"We ought to have a bite sometime. If this menace ever unchains you from your chair."

Jamie laughs. "The old man's got to, or he gets in trouble."

"Kieron's afraid of me!" Warren yells.

"No one's afraid of you," Grant calls back.

"I am!" Gerard quips from the office doorway.

"I _like_ him, Grant," Warren says. "You'd best keep him."

Grant rests his hand on the back of Gerard's neck for a moment, then hands him a mug. "Told you," he murmurs.

Gerard smiles at him. "Yeah, yeah." The kid has a fucking beautiful smile.

They drink their tea. Gerard drifts off and starts gesticulating about art with Jamie, and it's a genuine joy to watch them.

"Best idea you've had in an eon, Moz," Warren tells him.

"Which?" Grant asks. "The story or Gerard?"

"Not the story. You're full of those."

"I wasn't joking," Grant says quietly. "I literally tripped over him. Passed out from something or other on my stoop. He's… surprising."

"You and your strays. Just be careful, Grant. Remember what happened when that old gray cat of yours got poorly." It wasn't a good time for Grant, this is true.

"I know. I haven't… I do have a few lines, ethics left. We'll see what happens, I suppose," Grant says quietly.

Warren laughs. "You always did have that idealistic streak. What are you doing working for me?"

"I also have a crazy streak," Grant replies with a smile. "And a penchant for telling authority to go fuck itself."

"This is true."

Gerard laughs at something Jaime says then, and Grant realizes he hadn't actually _heard_ Gerard laugh before. At least not like that, loud and full and carefree. He wonders if Gerard has any friends, anyone he's close to. He seems to know lots of people, but maybe not more than that.

When they're on the tram back, Grant asks. "Do you have anyone you need… that is, am I going to make people think I kidnapped you?"

"Only if I tell them you did," Gerard jokes.

Grant laughs. "Well, please don't. I imagine the paperwork for disputing kidnapping charges would be more of a nightmare than if you'd died on my stoop."

"I tend to avoid law enforcement," Gerard murmurs. "And dying."

"Bullshit," Grant says.

Gerard raises an eyebrow at him. "You do it, too."

"I don't take the kind of shit you take, and I don't push beyond my limits," Grant says.

"What is this, a fucking intervention?" Gerard frowns.

"No," Grant murmurs. "I wouldn't presume. However, you are much more useful to me - and much more pleasant company - when you're both conscious and lucid."

"Fine," Gerard says. He doesn't say anything more, and Grant doesn't push.

They get back to the flat, and the cats immediately swarm around their feet. "Did I forget to feed you this morning?" he asks them.

"Maybe they're just ready for their afternoon nap," Gerard says.

"Perhaps," Grant replies. " _I_ am certainly ready for it."

"I really oughtta run some programs," Gerard says.

"Feel free," Grant says and waves a hand. "It's all yours; I shan't get in your way."

*

Working with Gerard - living with Gerard - isn't as hard as Grant had imagined it might be, even with a small space to share. Gerard respects a closed bedroom door as a privacy barrier even if the cats do not, and Gerard does seem to go off to his own apartment in Seven every few days, or off on unspecified daytime appointments. He does go out some evenings and come back either half-drunk or, sometimes, half-high. He clearly hasn't taken anything like before that fucks him up completely. Maybe because he's sleeping. Grant knows because he's sleeping with Grant.

For the first couple of nights, he attempted to keep up the pretense of starting on the couch and then moving into Grant's bed halfway through the night. Now he just goes to bed _with_ Grant. It's...fine. Grant's gotten used to it and actually rather likes it. He doesn't make a practice of bringing his hookups home with him anyway, and if Gerard is doing anything, he's certainly not bringing anyone home. Which is just fine with Grant.

"Pretty sure I saw some weird lurkers at the tram stop this afternoon," Gerard tells him when he comes back from the shops one day a few weeks after he moved in. The third article in their expose was just published, and some inkling of it seems to have crept into the mainstream at last. "I mean. It doesn't necessarily have to do with us. This is a weird fucking city, but."

Grant nods. "We'll keep an eye out. Be careful. I don't know what kind of side jobs you've been picking up, if any, but be cautious about who you deal with."

Gerard nods. "Come out with me tonight?" he asks. "It's been a while."

"Alright," Grant agrees. "But… there's a bar that has live music, and several friends of mine perform there on and off. Let's go there instead of the club."

Gerard nods. "Okay. Anyone I'd have heard of?"

"Dunno. It's usually people who have other things going in their lives but want a space to perform the odd show. No one well-known, particularly. All talented," Grant explains.

"You have good taste," Gerard replies. "Okay, let's do it."

Gerard looks up at him and smiles. Grant refrains from kissing him. They make their way to the bar, and a lovely young redhead is singing. They order drinks and sit. It _is_ pleasant to be out with Gerard where the only focus is conversation. Grant enjoys the dancing when they indulge, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to keep his hands to himself. Even more so on the dance floor than when they're sharing his bed, strangely enough. Perhaps he's conditioned himself to find pleasure out of beds, which is its own concern. For now, he enjoys leaning in to tell Gerard that the song the woman is currently singing was originally done by a Scottish man back when he was a teenager.

"I like it," Gerard says. "I've always loved British musicians."

"Scottish," Grant corrects, just because, and Gerard laughs.

"You're pretty fierce about that for an expat."

"And if I said you were from the New York City area?" Grant asks. Gerard makes a face, and Grant laughs. "Exactly." He taps Gerard on the nose with a finger for good measure. "Another drink, kitten?"

Gerard nods happily, and Grant motions for two more drinks. Just then, the singer comes off stage. "Water, Jon?" she asks Grant's favorite bartender.

"You got it, Chantie," he replies and hands over a bottle.

She reaches for it and accidentally bumps Gerard. "Oh, I'm sorry, honey."

"I'm fine," Gerard says. "Loved your set."

She beams. "Thanks!"

"Yes, it was wonderful," Grant tells her with a smile and then asks, "How did you hear the McClure song? It never got much play outside my corner of Scotland."

"My husband does sampling a lot for his songs. He used another track from that album for a sample, and I fell for the whole thing. Hell if I know how he found it; he's a man of mystery." She grins. "He's here somewhere. Stick around, and I'll introduce you and your boyfriend."

"We're not—" Grant says at the same time Gerard says,

"He's not my—" They laugh and look at each other, and it's a touch awkward, but the woman just goes with it.

"Oh, sorry. My mistake. Anyway, stick around. He'd know and then probably talk your ear off about it. I'm Chantal." They both introduce themselves, and Chantal flashes them a smile. "Good to see new faces. I think I might recognize you, though, Grant."

"Hard to miss," he chuckles, rubbing his shaved head.

"No," Chantal corrects, "This is hard to miss." She points at Gerard's hair, then her own coppery shade, winks, and sashays back to the stage. Gerard laughs and leans his shoulder against Grant's. Grant rolls his eyes. It's no wonder Chantal thought they were together.

"Drinks," Jon says, dropping them off.

"Thanks, Jon," Grant says. "How've you been?"

"Good, Grant. Haven't seen you in a while," Jon replies.

"I've been working a lot," Grant says. "Also, I admit, having a bit of a flirtation with the dance club near my place."

Jon laughs. "This is why I'm always glad to see you, Grant."

"Been up to anything interesting?" Grant asks.

Jon shrugs. "Bit of this, bit of that. You know how it goes. You brought me fresh meat this time. Hi, I'm Jon. Do you sing?"

"Gerard," Gerard answers. "I used to. Sort of not what I'm doing right now. Actually, I'm working for Grant, doing some computer stuff."

"Well, if you ever _want_ to sing, you let me know, and I can hook you up with a gig," Jon says. "Are you the—never mind. Don't tell me. I've been reading the articles. Most everyone here has. Fucking crazy shit."

"My specialty," Grant replies. Art school, singing...what else doesn't he know about Gerard? There's only one way to find out. He starts asking questions. They talk until Chantal's second set is over, and she comes back with a tall, skinny guy in a black hoodie.

"Hi again," she says with a grin. "This is my husband, James."

"I hear you plucked McClure out of Scottish obscurity and introduced him to your lovely wife, James," Grant says with a grin.

"Call me Jimmy. A public service, you know? If you like him, you'd probably hate what I did to him."

"On the contrary, I like industrial music," Grant assures him. "Haven't seen you play in here, though."

"Nah, I do a semi-regular set over in Two, though."

"I've done a little bit of work in Two," Gerard says, and the two of them start talking places and people and pretty soon, they're all in conversation for long enough that Grant is surprised when Jon makes last call.

"We've been reading your articles," Chantal says. "I work for MM and… yeah. It's not good. I'm glad you're doing it, and I really hope it helps."

"Personally, I liked the alien abduction series," Jimmy says.

Grant laughs. "I'm not surprised."

"The alien abduction series was pretty fucking spectacular," Chantal says.

"I kept wondering where he _found_ all these people," Gerard says.

"You know," Grant teases, "the strangest people always just show up at my door."

Gerard sticks out his tongue. "I think it turned out even better this time than all the other times."

"You would. Speaking of, are you ready to catch a tram, kitten? I'm sure Jon would like to lock up soon."

Chantal gives them a _look_ that Grant knows says, "suuuuuuuure you aren't together." He ignores the look and reaches out to shake her hand, then Jimmy's. "It was nice to meet you both," he says.

Gerard nods enthusiastically. "We're definitely going to have to come back here. Dunno why it took you so long to tell me about it."

"Silly of me," Grant replies easily, but he doesn't really know why either.

"Very," Gerard says, and they wave goodbye to everyone and go out the door. They walk by a cafe, and the smell of coffee wafts out at them. "Mmm, I want coffee," Gerard murmurs.

"You'll be up all night," Grant replies.

"As if that would be weird," Gerard says. He doesn't make a move to go into the cafe, though, just keeps walking with Grant. Grant tells himself it's not because Gerard enjoys sleeping with him. Then he can't stop thinking about it. Maybe Grant hasn't completely conditioned himself out of equating sex and beds, after all.

They get home and get ready for bed, and Grant's still thinking about it as he watches the curve of Gerard's t-shirt-clad shoulder as he gets in bed. He never catches Gerard watching him. Maybe that little speech about payment had been what Gerard wanted to hear after all. Which is… Grant knows it should be a relief, but it's not. It only serves to make him feel a little bit sad which is absurd.

He really ought to be more helpful searching for new apartments for Gerard. Gerard's landlord had called twice in the past week with complaints about the other roommate, and Gerard had gone over both times, returning with more and more of his equipment each time. Grant's not sure how much could possibly be left there. Gerard doesn't exactly have a lot of material possessions.

Project for another day, he thinks sleepily.

*

Gerard goes out without Grant a couple of nights later and comes back slurring his speech, eyes showing minimal amounts of iris, stumbling around the flat. Grant supposes he should be grateful Gerard even managed to make it home.

"Glad you remembered what level to go to this time," Grant mutters.

"I'm fucking fine," Gerard says with a laugh and then trips over a cat.

"Doesn't look so much like it," Grant murmurs, and Gerard frowns, clearly trying to glare at Grant through whatever pink elephants are dancing in his vision.

"You said you didn't care."

Grant sighs. He shouldn't care as long as it doesn't interfere with their work, but clearly he does.

"Come on," Gerard wheedles, coming over and draping himself over Grant's shoulders. "Let's go to bed."

Grant's hands automatically go up to grasp Gerard's arms where he's holding Grant. "Gerard," he murmurs.

"Please? 'M tired, and I sleep better with you." He still sounds so playful, though. Like he's not tired at all.

"Don't know if I'm ready," Grant says slowly.

"Fine," Gerard replies, a pout in his voice, "I'll go alone."

Grant lets him. He tells himself he imagines the thready moan he hears a couple minutes later because no bloody fucking chance he's going to investigate. He puts in some ear pieces, listens to music, and tries to read. He wasn't supposed to care about this. Gerard's life is his own. Grant is stuck trying to remember the reasons he had for avoiding relationships. Beside the obvious; namely, Gerard might not even want one. And he's young. So young. Grant enjoys casual fucking as much as the next person, but at this point, if he's going to come home daily to a person he's fucking, he'd like them to stay.

He removes the ear pieces carefully, but the flat is silent. He goes to the bedroom and eases the door open. Gerard is sprawled across the sheets, shirtless and asleep. Grant sighs and changes. When he gets in bed, Gerard immediately drapes an arm over his chest and puts his head on Grant's shoulder. Grant sighs again and wraps his arms around Gerard. "This isn't going to work, kitten," he whispers.

Gerard just mutters in his sleep and rubs his face against Grant's chest. It's not going to work, but Grant doesn't know how to fix it.

The next day, Grant starts casually asking people he knows if they know of someone who needs a roommate. That gets him _looks_ and the odd, "But I thought..." He just breathes through his nose and keeps asking.

Finally, Cameron says, "Yeah, actually. I've been thinking about getting a roommate."

"Want to meet for drinks? I can introduce you to a friend of mine."

"The friend that's been living with you?" Cameron asks casually. Grant can't tell if he's heard the rumors or not.

"Yeah. My research assistant," is all Grant answers.

"Sure, Moz. If you're buying," Cameron chuckles.

"Gerard," Grant says when Gerard gets back from his errands, "we're booked for drinks tonight."

Gerard looks up from his parcels with a smile. "Yeah? Who with?"

"A good friend. Cameron Stewart. Anywhere you'd like to go?" Grant wants to make this as pleasant a setting for Gerard as possible.

"That place you took me to before. Where we met Chantal and Jimmy," Gerard says.

"You got it," Grant replies.

They get ready and head to the bar. Jon greets them happily, and Chantal spots them from near the stage and waves. Cameron waves too; he's already in a booth. He smiles at Grant and Grant mugs back at him. Cameron's always been one of his favorites.

"It's been too long, Grant," Cameron says when they get to the table.

"Entirely too long. Especially since you haven't met Gerard. Gerard, Cameron. Cameron, Gerard."

"But I've heard about him," Cameron says, and that answers that question. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," Gerard replies politely.

"So, Grant says you're looking for a place?" Cameron asks and fucking shit. That was… not how he wanted this conversation to start, and he has no one to blame but himself.

Gerard's head swivels toward Grant. "Not as far as I was aware," he says slowly. "Grant?"

"You don't need to!" he says. "Just, you've nearly moved completely out of your place, and if you wanted a room to yourself elsewhere, Cameron has one available."

"I do," Cameron says easily, though he gives Grant a quizzical eyebrow.

"I…" Gerard starts. "Maybe that's a good idea? And I sort of… you probably want your apartment back." He looks at Cameron. "I don't have a lot of stuff, just some equipment for my job."

"No problem. Let me give you my number. You can come by and take a look at the place whenever."

"Awesome. Definitely," Gerard says brightly. They exchange numbers and chat fairly normally for a while; Gerard beckons Chantal and Jimmy over, and Grant breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe he didn't just totally fuck everything up, and then Gerard looks at his phone.

"Aw, shit," he says. "I totally forgot about a job I was supposed to do. Cameron, I'll call you." And then he's gone.

"Why do I feel like I was just party to the most passive-aggressive breakup in history?" Cameron asks. "What the hell, Grant?"

Grant sighs. "I should have told you. It's my fault."

"That much is abundantly clear," Cameron says bluntly. "And if he had an actual thing he had to be at, I'd be fucking shocked."

"It isn't actually a breakup," Grant says irritably.

"Well, that's how he's taking it," Cameron retorts.

"We've never fucked. We've never even kissed. He's been sleeping on my couch -" bed - "- and that can't. I can't." He sighs.

Cameron shakes his head. "You're being remarkably obtuse for an extremely intelligent man. Grant, he is gone over you. I could tell from the moment you walked in together, and I don't think you can say you don't return his feelings."

Cameron doesn't know the whole story. But then again, does the whole story matter, really?

"Well, I can't exactly fix it now," Grant says tiredly.

"Sure you can," Cameron replies.

"I can, Mister Pessimist?"

Cameron laughs. "If anyone can, you can."

Grant needs someone like Cameron in his life; Cameron really is a good friend. "Right. Hopefully he even comes home tonight," Grant says and runs a hand over his head.

"Why wouldn't he? He loves you."

"I hope you're right."

They have another drink, and then they part ways. Grant says goodbye to the people he knows before going home. Once in the comfort of his little flat with his nameless cats and Gerard's things scattered everywhere, he truly realizes how desperately he doesn't want Gerard to leave. Not now, not ever. Then it strikes him that he shouldn't perhaps just be worried about the fact that Gerard might try to go back to his old place or to avoid him, but what Gerard might be up to at this moment. Not twenty-four hours ago, he came home three sheets to the wind.

Grant wonders if Gerard is enough of a creature of habit to be at his favored club. Perhaps if Gerard doesn't turn up in an hour or so, Grant will go check. He certainly won't be able to sleep.

Gerard doesn't turn up. He doesn't call or answer his phone. Grant thinks maybe he turned it off. Grant gets up, dislodging a cat from his lap, and shrugs his jacket back on. He hopes all he finds is Gerard dancing. Maybe a little hurt and upset, maybe a little drunk, a little high. He fears that won't be the case.

The bouncers know him now, so he just stops and asks. "Is my friend here?"

One nods. "Yeah. Came in a couple of hours ago."

"Thanks," Grant murmurs, and they nod him into the club. He looks to the dance floor first, but he doesn't spot Gerard. He goes up to the bar and asks there. "Is my friend here?"

"Yeah," she replies, shouting over the music. "Haven't seen him in a while, though. Check the bathrooms."

Grant frowns and goes to the back where the bathrooms are. He has to take a few deep breaths before going in. There are certain things it will not help the situation for him to see right now.

What he finds is Gerard slumped against the wall with a man crouched over him. "Dude, c'mon." He's muttering and shaking Gerard. "Wake up."

Grant clamps down on his shoulder. "What did you give him?"

"Didn't give him anything," the man mutters. "He was already fucked up."

"Has he been conscious at all?" Grant asks.

"When we first got in here," the man replies.

"Do you have any idea what he took?" Grant asks.

"Uh. I saw a guy who sells Black Ice earlier, but I don't know if that's what he's on. He said he just wanted a little fun. This isn't my fucking fault."

"No," Grant says. "It's mine. Now get the fuck out." The man flees and Grant, crouches down and reaches out to push Gerard's hair out of his face. He's breathing, at least, but he's pale and… fuck. "Gerard. Don't you dare. Can you hear me?"

He slaps Gerard's cheek lightly. Gerard makes a noise but doesn't wake. Grant takes a breath and reaches out and pulls Gerard up and then lifts him into his arms. Home or hospital, though? Grant swallows. Hospital. He knows he got lucky last time. He carries Gerard out of the bathroom, and everyone parts to let him pass through.

"Take care of him," a bouncer says gruffly as Grant passes by. "He's a good kid."

"Call a medcar," he tells the bartender as he passes.

He doesn't have to wait long once he gets them out of the club. They must be used to this, used to coming to this neighborhood. "Hospital preference?" the medic asks, and Grant freezes up for a second before remembering he actually knows a doctor at Midcity.

He sits by Gerard's head as the medics give him all the preliminary treatments they can. "Any idea what he took?" one of them asks.

"Someone at the club mentioned Black Ice, but I know he does other shit sometimes," Grant says quietly. They nod and keep working.

They get to Midcity and make Grant go do paperwork and wait. It's torture. He asks at the front desk if Trent is on shift. The nurse says she'll try to find out. He must look pretty pathetic because she gives him a motherly smile. He goes back to sit down and ends up sitting staring at his hands until a voice says, "Grant?"

"Trent. Thanks for coming down. I know you're busy."

"Who are you here with?" Trent says. He's already pulled his tablet out of his coat pocket.

"Gerard Way," Grant says. "In for a drug overdose."

Trent nods, tapping away. "They're administering fluids and running a tox panel now. You want me to take it over?"

"You don't have to, I - I put myself as emergency contact because his family is across the country and -" Grant's voice cracks.

"His vitals are steady," Trent says gently. "You got him here in time. I'm taking the file."

"Thank you," Grant breathes. "I…"

Trent reaches out to squeeze his shoulders. "I'll take care of him. I'll come out to get you when you can see him."

Grant nods and sits back down. He hasn't had to do this in a long time. It feels like an eternity until Trent comes to get him. "How is he?" Grant asks.

"Not conscious yet, but doing better."

"I can go see him?"

Trent nods. "It'll be okay. Kid had quite a fucking fruit salad in his bloodstream, Grant. Is this something that -"

Grant swallows. "He'd… he hadn't stopped, but he hasn't gotten quite so fucked up in a while. Then I did something unforgivably insensitive and he…" Grant's voice cracks again.

"Grant, whatever you did or didn't do, a guy like this would have ended up here eventually either way," Trent says gently.

"He was getting better," Grant protests, but it isn't really true. Grant wanted him to be getting better.

"Grant, don't do that to yourself. You may have hurt him, but him following the lead of his disease in dealing with that is not your fault. Come on. Let's go see him."

Trent leads him down the hall and into a small observation room. Gerard's hair is even more vibrant than usual against pale sheets and a green hospital gown. He's got more color in his face, though. Still. Grant swallows and takes the chair next to Gerard. He reaches out and takes his hand.

"You can stay as long as you like. I'll ask the nurses not to kick you out," Trent says. "We gave him something that will stop the cravings, but it will wear off after a few days."

Grant falls asleep in the chair countless times throughout the night. Gerard starts shivering sometime around four am. His vitals all seem normal, and nobody comes, so Grant does what he's wanted to do anyway and gets on the bed with Gerard and wraps him in his arms. "I am so sorry, kitten," he murmurs into Gerard's hair.

Gerard doesn't answer.

He falls asleep again and doesn't wake until the nurse comes into the room to do Gerard's morning care.

"Cafeteria's just opening up, hon," she says. "Why don't you go get some food while I do this? Promise it won't take long."

Grant nods and follows the signs to the cafeteria. He gets coffee and grabs a bagel because he's not sure he can eat much else and goes back up to Gerard's floor.

"Good job," the nurse says when she sees him walking by the nurse's station with food. "Can't have you getting sick while your boyfriend's getting better."

Grant opens his mouth to correct her and then closes it again. He just smiles tiredly and goes back into Gerard's room. He eats the bagel first, then takes the lid off the coffee. If anything will wake Gerard.... He chuckles at himself for the thought and takes a sip while he scrolls through the news sites on his tablet.

"Mmph," Gerard moans, and his eyes blink open. "What the fuck?" he croaks.

"You're in hospital, Gerard," Grant tells him matter-of-factly.

Gerard stares at him. "Why are you here?" he asks tiredly. "What happened?"

"I scraped you off the bathroom floor at The Magic Mirror, and you know fucking well what you took, so you can probably guess what happened." This is... not how he'd imagined this conversation going.

Gerard looks thunderous, and Grant takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "You came perilously close to dying, Gerard," Grant whispers. "When I found you." His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "I've never been so fucking terrified in all my life."

"I didn't fucking try it," Gerard protests.

"Gerard," Grant murmurs. "Kitten, you nearly died. If I had decided to wait to see if you'd come home, if... you nearly died."

"Why would I have come home?" Gerard says. "It's not my home. You made that clear."

Grant swallows hard. "It's your home. Everything would be rubbish without you. I… thought that in contacting Cameron I was doing what was best for you. I was wrong. I shouldn't have… none of that should have happened the way it did, and I can only apologize."

"Cameron was _nice_ ," Gerard says. "And I was rude. Because of you."

"You were perfectly polite to Cameron." Grant manages a bit of a smile. "And he knew precisely where to lay the blame for anything that happened." His smile falters. "I can't watch you OD again, kitten."

Gerard turns his face away. "Don't. If you're just. If it's just guilt making you say…"

"No," Grant says fiercely. "It's that I care about you, and I can't watch you OD. I can't." Gerard bites his lip, and Grant reaches out to hold his hand. He's still holding on when Trent comes in on rounds a little while later.

Trent smiles when he sees them. "Glad to see you're awake, Gerard. Don't think I've ever seen Grant this worried in all the years I've known him."

"Do you know _everyone_?" Gerard asks Grant.

"Grant is the kind of person no one ever forgets," Trent says. "Gerard. Your system practically shut itself down last night. As a medical professional I have some things I need to say to you about that."

Gerard swallows audibly. "I… yeah."

"Do you want him here for this?" Trent asks, nodding at Grant. Gerard's hand tightens in Grant's, and he nods. Grant can't help but feel a little relieved. "If you keep doing this, sooner or later you will die," Trent says. "That's just a fact. You're young, and right now your body has the ability to bounce back. Soon, it won't, and it would be much, much easier for you to quit now. The longer you wait, the worse it gets."

"I… it's time. For Grant. For my brother," Gerard murmurs.

"Do it for yourself, too, Gerard," Trent says.

"And Jon and Jimmy and Chantal. And Warren and Jamie," Grant adds. "Lots of people really like you, Gerard."

Gerard nods. "I'm done. There's too much other shit I want to do with my life."

"Glad to hear it," Trent says. Grant squeezes Gerard's hand. "There are thing I can give you, injections or pills that will make it easier, but ultimately, those only work so long."

Gerard shakes his head. "I want to try without. I… need to."

"You'll need a lot of support for that."

"He has it," Grant says. "Whatever he needs, I'll do it, or we'll sort out how to do it."

"I'm inclined to discharge you," Trent says, "but I will give you a list of meetings. And I encourage you to go, even if you think it's stupid. Especially then. Got it?"

"Got it," Gerard replies.

"Good." Trent taps his tablet a few times, and within moments, he's discharged. "I'll send a nurse with your things. Good luck, Gerard. Grant has my number. Call at any time."

"Thanks," Gerard murmurs. They sit for a while longer waiting for the discharge to go through, silent, holding each other's hands.

"I'm proud of you," Grant says after Gerard changes.

"I haven't done anything yet," Gerard replies.

"Still proud that you made a decision. You'll have to let me know how I can help you."

"I will," Gerard promises.

As they walk out of the hospital, Grant takes Gerard's hand. Gerard lets him but doesn't comment on it, which is probably good. They've had enough emotions for one day, and tomorrow isn't going to be easier. But Gerard is still with him, still alive and coming home. The rest can wait for a while.

*

Grant's been around friends going through a detox before, but this one hurts worse. Gerard is trying so hard, and he's so frustrated. He's gritting his teeth and taking walks and petting the cats and obsessively tinkering with his electronics and drinking cup after cup after cup of coffee, but none of it really helps him. Then it gets worse. He gets the shakes, starts feeling sick.

"This sucks," Gerard says as he shivers on the couch.

"You're doing so well, kitten," Grant murmurs. "I know it sucks." He puts his tablet down and picks up the vidscreen controller, wrapping a blanket around Gerard's shoulders, and pulling him into his lap for good measure. Gerard buries his face in Grant's chest and shakes. Grant doesn't even watch the movie, just runs his fingers through Gerard's hair over and over. "Try to sleep, Gerard. I've got you."

Gerard nods and draws a shaky breath. Gradually, he relaxes a little and manages to fall into a fitful sleep. Grant doesn't let go of him the entire time.

Even that is not the low point. The low point is probably the night he has to pluck Gerard out of the shower, but things start getting better. Grant knows because Gerard starts nagging him about the exposé.

When Grant tells him he had Warren put a hold on the piece, Gerard looks horrified. "Why did you do that? I'm fine. Good enough for research, anyway."

"Gerard, that is not exactly the... Gerard." Grant rubs a hand over his head. Maybe this is a good move. Maybe Gerard needs a purpose. Something to truly take his attention. "Okay. But we can always put a hold on it if we need to, and I need you to _tell_ me if you need a break."

"Sure thing, boss." And Gerard _smiles._ Grant hasn't seen that for a while. Christ, he loves that smile, more than he loves most anything on the entire earth. Gerard seems to enjoy the challenge, just like always.

Grant really knows Gerard is finally on the mend when he starts humming while he works again. Grant loves it. They get an article to Warren, and it's only two days late. Gerard actually resists stopping his research most nights until Grant takes hold of his elbow and tugs him to bed. He's a man on a mission. Grant wonders what he'll do when they're done. He's got talent coming out of his pores, so it could be anything. Grant's a man on a mission, too. This is an important story, but there are so many important stories. He just knows that he wants Gerard around for all of them - in some capacity.

They churn the next article out faster than all the others. They're getting close to some big stuff, and Gerard is making faces at his interface more often and swearing and doing all sorts of crazy hacker shit. Grant has to stop him from tugging on his hair half a dozen times one evening. Finally he says, "Gerard, let's go out tonight. Blow off some steam."

Gerard looks up at him. "Okay," he agrees quietly.

"If you feel like… I don't want to lead you to temptation if you can't handle it, but I think we deserve a night of dancing," Grant says.

"I like dancing. I like being able to have a few drinks with a friend. I won't take anything."

"All right," Grant says and reaches out to tuck Gerard's hair behind his ear. "I'm actually looking forward to this quite a lot. What shall I wear?" Grant says with a smile.

Gerard rolls his eyes. "How is that even a question? The white pants, the leather jacket, and one of your stupid shirts."

Grant laughs. "You have a number of stupid shirts yourself, you know."

Gerard shrugs elaborately. "I look good in them."

"You do," Grant agrees with a grin. "I suppose you suggesting I wear one of my so-called stupid shirts out means you think I look good in them, too."

"Maybe," Gerard grins. Grant ruffles Gerard's hair and goes to change. When he comes back out, Gerard gives him a very deliberate once-over.

He suppresses a reaction, just tilts his head. "Well?"

"Perfect," Gerard says.

"Your turn to change, kitten," Grant tells him. Gerard giggles and pushes himself out of his chair. When he comes back, he's wearing a pair of his deliciously tight jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and - eye makeup. Jesus. He looks even more fuckable than usual, and Grant still wants to fuck him when he's looking his roughest.

Gerard does a fey little pirouette and says, "Okay, ready."

Grant lets them both out of the flat. Gerard takes his arm as they start walking. "We going to The Magic Mirror?" he asks.

"Only if you're up for it," Grant says. "There are other places."

"I want to," Gerard says. "Just to prove I can. I don't think I've ever once been there without taking _something_."

The bouncer gives them a head nod that's pretty much the tough-guy equivalent of a smile when they walk up. Gerard's fingers tighten on Grant's sleeve, but he grins and follows Grant inside.

"Booth or dance floor?" he says into Grant's ear.

"Dance floor for now?" Grant suggests. He wants the feel of Gerard's body against his for a little bit before they sit down. The music is good tonight, full of strong beats to carry you away. Grant wraps his arms around Gerard's hips and closes his eyes. It's perfect.

They move together until they're both breathless. Grant honestly isn't sure if it's Gerard himself or the physical activity that's affecting him more. All he knows is that he is affected.

"Drink?" he murmurs in Gerard's ear. Gerard nods, and they make their way off the dance floor. The bartender points at a booth with a little "reserved" sign on it and waves Grant off when he tries to pay for drinks.

"What's this all about?" Gerard says, looking a little pink.

"Everyone likes you," Grant murmurs.

Gerard runs a hand through his hair and smiles at Grant sheepishly. "I guess I never noticed."

"Well, now you know," Grant says and takes a sip of his drink. Gerard mostly sips at a pint of beer and chats quietly with Grant and watches the dancers. He looks fairly relaxed until someone walks up to their booth.

"Missed your pretty face," the man says with a sleazy smile. "I got some stuff you might be interested in, if you wanna do an exchange."

"Not interested," Gerard says quietly, unsmiling.

"Aw, c'mon," the man wheedles. "You know you like it."

"I liked it fine until I almost fucking OD'd," Gerard replies, starting to sound annoyed.

"Come on, pretty, you know I've got something else for you." The man grabs his crotch suggestively.

"Maybe if your cock was worth going back for without some other incentive," Gerard says dismissively.

"I like you better when you're wasted," the guy replies and walks off in a huff. Grant releases a held-in breath. He wouldn't have stepped in unless Gerard wanted him to, but.

"It's true," Gerard says. "His dick is weird."

Grant laughs. "You definitely deserve better than weird."

Gerard smiles, a little bitterly. "That's going to keep happening, isn't it? I don't know if I can deal with much more of that." He sighs. "Too bad I don't know how to hook up without 'doing an exchange.'"

"It's not that different, I don't think. Just change up the words you use," Grant murmurs.

"But what words? Like, I don't even know how to talk to people who might be into hooking up with me."

"It's simple, kitten. Buy them a drink, tell them they're sexy, ask them if they want to get together. Worst they're going to say is no."

Gerard grimaces. "But no is terrible."

Grant smiles. "Why don't I demonstrate for you?" Before Gerard can answer, Grant slips out of the booth and goes to the bar and orders another round of drinks. Gerard is watching him, wide-eyed. He seems to think Grant is about to pick somebody up right in front of him, but that's not Grant's plan. Grant's plan is much more terrifying than that.

He takes the drinks back to their booth and slides in. He passes Gerard's to him and sits close. "Have I mentioned that you are looking incredibly gorgeous tonight?" Grant asks.

"You haven't actually, even after I told you," Gerard points out. He's acting like he thinks this is a joke.

"You are," Grant breathes and leans in close to whisper in his ear, "You always are."

Gerard shivers. "Grant -" he whispers back.

Grant lifts a hand to Gerard's face, slowly, telegraphing the movement. He smooths his thumb over Gerard's cheek and tilts Gerard's face up to watch understanding dawn in his eyes. "I'm not joking, Gerard," he murmurs.

Gerard bites his lip and reaches up to touch Grant's mouth. "Can we go home?" he asks. "I want… I need you to…"

"Home," Grant confirms. "See? That wasn't difficult, was it?" he smiles.

"It's you," Gerard says, linking his fingers with Grant's.

Grant wants to tell him it doesn't ever have to be anyone else, but perhaps that's too much for the first time they manage to deal with this. "I've wanted you since the beginning," he tells Gerard in the lift because he deserves to know that much. "It was never that I didn't want you."

Gerard smiles at him, gorgeous and perfect.

"Home," Grant says. He wants to be home, in their flat, before he kisses Gerard, so he can relish it without fear of interruption.

Gerard lets them into the flat and engages the door locks before turning around and advancing on Grant. Grant had expected him to hesitate, but he doesn't, not at all. He slides one arm around Grant's neck and cups his cheek with the other. "I thought… God, Grant." He leans in and presses their lips together.

Grant kisses him back, lightly at first, then with an open mouth and a slide of his tongue. Kisses him until he has to pull back and look at him, touching his sweaty, tangled hair and the smudges of red and black around his eyes, the clean line of his jaw and his white throat. Hooking a finger in his shirt collar.

"Grant," Gerard says and leans in to kiss him again. Suddenly, it's frantic, gasping for air, hands everywhere.

He already knows this body, knows it from dancing, from dodging it in the kitchen and holding it in bed, from Gerard putting his feet in Grant's lap while they watch vids, from every occasion large and small over the past six months, but he does not know it like this. Gerard feels warm, vibrant, tense with excitement - nervousness, perhaps, but Grant loves all of it. Grant loves _him_. He lets his hands fall to Gerard's waist and starts moving back, tugging him toward the bedroom.

He stops when Gerard starts to laugh. "Is this all right, Gerard?"

"No, I mean yes, it's just - do you know how long it's been since I've fucked in a bed?"

"Entirely too long, clearly," Grant says.

"Hell, it's been even longer since I did more then jack off while I blew someone," Gerard adds.

Grant makes a noise that, honestly, is no more than a whimper. "Gerard."

"I can do that for you. Sometime. Not now," Gerard whispers.

"Not now," Grant confirms. "I want to touch you entirely too much for it to be now." He curls his fingers around Gerard's belt and tugs him close again. "You look good, but I want these clothes off now, kitten," he murmurs.

Gerard tosses his jacket in the corner and pulls off his shirt swiftly. "Now you," he says.

Grant follows suit, but deposits his on the back of a nearby chair. He sits on the edge of the bed to deal with his boots land raises an eyebrow at Gerard. Gerard leans down to undo his own boots and then starts on the button of his jeans and the zip. Grant is torn between watching and standing up to deal with his own trousers.

Watching, he decides. He only gets to do this for the first time once. Gerard smirks when he sees that he has Grant's full attention and slows down.

He shimmies out of his tight, tight jeans in a way that is completely sexy, and he's not wearing any underwear. Fuck. "You will be the death of me," Grant murmurs.

"I fucking hope not," Gerard replies and steps into the V of his legs. Grant gives in and sets one hand on Gerard's hip, wrapping the other around his cock. "Fuck," Gerard gasps. Grant watches his eyes flutter closed.

"You're so beautiful," Grant tells him. "On the bed. Let me show you."

Gerard leans in and kisses him first, lingering against his lips. Grant's hands flex on Gerard's hips when he moves to get on the bed. Grant stands and stares at him, at his beautiful form, the way his body looks against the sheets. It takes Gerard lifting an eyebrow at him to remember himself and start work on the button fly of his trousers. He has not forgone briefs like Gerard had, so he's left with one thin layer of cotton when his trousers are off.

The way Gerard is licking his lips as he looks Grant up and down is pretty gratifying. He pushes his briefs down and steps out of them. Gerard is practically squirming in place.

"What do you want, kitten?"

"Grant, I - you - I always tried not to look, but I want you -" He takes a deep breath. "Fuck me, please."

Grant moans. "Happily," he says throatily and gets on the bed next to Gerard. He runs his fingers down Gerard's sternum. "I want this to be good, so I'm going to take my time."

"'S already good," Gerard murmurs. "It's you."

"Gerard. I thank fate for you," Grant says, moving on top of him and settling his weight on Gerard slowly. Gerard curls his arms around Grant and holds him close; he spreads his thighs and hooks his ankles over Grant's calves. Grant has to hold back a moan every time he moves his hips.

"I could come like this," Gerard whispers.

"Maybe when we wake up," Grant says and kisses over Gerard's jaw and down his neck.

"Okay," Gerard moans. "Grant, why are we waiting? Let's not anymore."

"Because I am enjoying being allowed to touch you," Grant says and nips his jaw.

"Touch me whenever and wherever you want." Gerard arches and wriggles.

"I intend to," Grant replies and stretches to reach for the little-used supplies in the night table. Gerard stretches underneath him like a cat. Grant smiles and mouths down his chest, sliding down between his legs. He kisses Gerard's hipbones, the soft skin below his belly button, the base of his cock. Gerard makes an impatient noise. "Shh, getting there." Grant trails his fingers down behind Gerard's balls.

"Oh fuck," Gerard moans, and his hands flex in the sheets. Grant rubs two fingers over his entrance and takes the head of his cock in his mouth. He tastes so fucking _good._ His cock is big enough to fill Grant's mouth - and his senses - heat, silky skin, the taste of his precome bitter and perfect. Grant opens the lube one-handed and coats his fingers. He tests, pushes the tips of two fingers against Gerard, and when he moans and thrusts his hips back, Grant pushes them both slowly inside.

Gerard is tight, but clearly not enough to keep him from thrusting against Grant's fingers. "More," he begs. "Fuck, Grant, give me more."

That Gerard clearly wants it a little rough is the least surprising thing. Grant smiles and gives him a third finger. He goes back to Gerard's cock, licking along the underside and sucking at the crown, just enough to tease as he works his fingers in, then crooks them.

Gerard lets out a wordless shout and reaches out to touch Grant's cheek, run his fingers over Grant's head. "Grant, please," he begs.

"Very well," he whispers against Gerard's hipbone, pulling his fingers out and pushing himself up onto his knees, reaching for a condom and getting himself ready. Gerard is biting his lip, and his pupils are blown wide. It's entirely because of Grant. It's a heady feeling. "Deep breath," he murmurs, lining up and pushing in and - fuck, it's too good. It's heat and friction and Gerard's fucking beautiful face and more fucking beautiful moan. Grant leans his forehead against Gerard's chest and pants. "You're going to make me come like when I was a lad and a pretty girl let me touch her for the first time."

"We'll just do it again," Gerard breathes, and Grant laughs and forces himself to start moving with slow, measured strokes. He kisses up Gerard's chest, over his collarbones, and up to his lips. Gerard wraps his legs around Grant's waist and moves with him. Grant loses himself in it, the slide of their lips, their panting breaths, Gerard under him and all around him, so warm. He moves his hips steadily until finally, he feels Gerard shudder and clench around him.

"Gerard," Grant whispers against his lips and slides a hand into his hair. He thrusts one last time and comes hard, moaning against Gerard's cheek. Gerard clings to his shoulders, kissing up Grant's jaw to his cheek. Grant turns his head and kisses him. It's slow and breathless and everything Grant has been wanting.

"This is why," Grant murmurs when he finally has to pull out, after he disposes of the condom. "I couldn't share my flat with you anymore without this."

Gerard gives him a soft look. "I'd have said yes if you'd asked."

"I worried that you would say yes for the wrong reasons," Grant admits.

"I love you," Gerard says. "I don't think that's a wrong reason. But… I'm glad I got clean first."

Grant wraps his arms around Gerard and pulls him close. "I love you too, kitten. I didn't want to admit it to anyone, much less myself."

"You have now," Gerard whispers. "That's good enough for me."

"That's what matters," Grant murmurs back, leaning in to kiss him again. It's very late by the time they fall asleep. As Grant drifts off, he thinks about how nice it will be to be able to kiss Gerard awake.

*

Grant comes up behind Gerard at the consoles with a fresh cup of coffee and kisses the top of his head. "Thanks," Gerard murmurs, leaning against him for a moment. "Fuck, Grant, you need to see this stuff."

Grant leans further down, cheek next to Gerard's. "What have you found this time, kitten?"

"New corporate memos," Gerard says. "Don't these guys get the CYA talk in business school?"

Grant laughs. "When you think your ass _is_ covered, apparently you don't notice the fucking breeze."

"We can work with this." Gerard takes a giant swig of his coffee. Grant takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss his neck. Gerard laughs and reaches up to cup his cheek. "You're gonna distract me."

"You're the one bringing up asses," Grant teases. "I can't fucking help it."

"I'm not gonna argue," Gerard replies and turns his head to brush his lips against the corner of Grant's mouth. "But maybe I should finish saving these memos first."

"If you insist." Grant wanders over to the kitchen instead and absently picks up a cat as he checks the pantry. "Hush, Foxy," he murmurs to the cat when she mews. He looks down at her. "Yes, Foxy. Because you are. Now hush."

"Did you just name a cat?" Gerard asks from the office corner.

"Possibly," Grant replies. He hears Gerard move and suddenly arms wrap around his waist.

"It's okay if you did," Gerard tells him.

Grant leans down and kisses Foxy's head. "I know. For the first time I feel…" he trails off.

"Like you're home? Or maybe that's just me," Gerard finishes.

"That is precisely it," Grant says and lets Foxy hop down so he can turn in Gerard's arms and tip their foreheads together. "I love you."

"Grant," Gerard breathes.

He kisses Gerard tenderly and thoroughly. "Go finish up," he murmurs when he pulls back.

Gerard does, but once he's finished tapping at the keyboard, he leans back in the chair and looks at Grant. "Think we ought to pay Chantal a visit." Grant raises an eyebrow. "Her company is… there's shit going on, and I'm thinking insider advice might help me be able to figure out where else I need to be looking."

"Guess we're going out on the town tonight," Grant says easily, though he's nervous as always when he starts to widen his net.

"Everyone's going to mock us," Gerard says with a smile.

"I could not possibly be less concerned," Grant replies contentedly.

"I don't _mind_ a little mocking, not about this. I have you, so nothing else really matters," Gerard says.

"Would you like to have me now?" Grant asks archly. Gerard grins at him.

"Is that a trick question? Because you're always gonna get the same answer."

"I was counting on it," Grant murmurs, twisting a strand of Gerard's hair out of his face.

They go back to bed for several hours and emerge again in time to get ready to go out for the evening. Grant can’t ever get enough of watching Gerard dress these days, watching him transform himself. The Gerard he lives with, the one who favors ratty t-shirts and loose pants, changes into a Gerard with more bravado, more flash. A Gerard who seems like he could be a little bit dangerous. Since he quit the booze and the drugs, he's even sharper and shamelessly sexual, to boot.

He'd been so contrite the first time he flirted his way into some morsel of information, but Grant doesn't care. He enjoys watching it, to be honest. Enjoys the way Gerard's tone changes, how his expression transforms from sweet to sultry. Even openly challenging, sometimes. Grant sits back and does his best bodyguard impression and just imagines how he'll fuck Gerard into limp, sweaty submission when they get home.

Tonight, they get to be with friends, so that won't be an issue. Instead, Gerard will be open and smiling and happy. Both sorts are equally tempting to Grant. So tempting. Never in his life has Grant spent so much time in bed. He doesn't mind, though. Gerard is just as enthusiastic.

He holds Grant's hand on the walk to the lifts. Grant knew he was enjoying cohabiting with Gerard, which had been surprising in and of itself. Now that they've sorted themselves out, he enjoys it even more. He loves the simple things like holding hands and stealing kisses when passing in the kitchen. The Grant of even a year ago would be mystified, maybe horrified. But this is what he wants now, and he wants it with all his heart.

They arrive at the bar, and Gerard refuses to let go of his hand when they walk inside. Jon sees them first and, predictably, laughs.

"Yes, Jonathan," Grant says dryly. "You were all correct about us."

"I'm shocked," he replies, pouring them their usual and waving away Grant's card.

"Oh my god, did you two finally pull your heads out of your asses?" Chantal asks behind them.

"Looks that way," Gerard replies, leaning harder against Grant.

"Good," Chantal replies. "You guys were ridiculous." She leans forward and squeezes Gerard's hand. "How are you? We heard you were in the hospital."

"I'm better," Gerard says. "I was fucked up."

"I'm glad, babe," she replies. "We were worried."

As was I, Grant thinks. He squeezes Gerard's hand, and Gerard leans up for a kiss. "You are just the person we were hoping to see, Miss Chantal," Grant tells her.

She raises her eyebrows. "What can I do for you, gentleman?"

"What are your feelings on espionage?" Gerard asks.

She pitches her voice low. "If it means sticking it to the fuckers I work for, real damn positive."

"Then we need to talk," Grant tells her.

"Here?" she asks.

"Here might be the best possible place, but if you'd rather, we can go to our flat at some point," Grant replies.

"Here's fine; let me ask Jon if we can borrow a dressing room," Chantal suggests. Jon agrees, and the three of them plus Jimmy go back into one of the dressing rooms and sit on the ratty, rundown couches.

Grant likes Jimmy. He's strange, loud, twisted, and utterly unashamed of any of those things. What's more, he's completely dedicated to Chantal. He won't hesitate to speak up if he thinks this is a bad plan.

"I need to get inside," Gerard says. "Because someone finally wised up and put their documents somewhere I can't hack into without access to a console in the building."

"Or maybe finally noticed that someone -" Jimmy gives Grant a meaningful look - "has a seriously effective back door into their confidential files."

"Or that," Grant says with a nod. "I have enough material for another article, but to really put the nails in, I need something more."

"Sounds dangerous," Chantal says. Grant can't quite tell from her tone if she's joking or not.

"We haven't had much hassle yet, but you're right that it could get that way very fast," Grant says.

"Will this be it, then? Will you be able to finish the series?"

"Yes, I believe so. Unless we run up against a dead end here, but I don't think we will," he replies. "They're entirely too stupid for that."

"Then why haven't they been caught before?" Jimmy shrugs when Grant raises an eyebrow at him. "Just asking."

"I don't know. Perhaps the right people weren't looking," Grant replies.

"And you two are the right people?" Jimmy asks.

"Yes, we are," Gerard replies, sounding just as confident about it as Grant feels.

"Well, I think it's about time," Chantal says. "Let me think about the best way to do this, and I'll contact you. How much time would you need?"

"I'd like at least half an hour, but I don't necessarily need that much," Gerard says.

She nods seriously. "Grant, do you need in, too?"

He frowns. He wants to be there, but in no way does he need to be. Gerard knows this story as well as he does by now. "Not if you think it's too risky," he says finally.

Gerard reaches for his hand. "Grant..."

"I trust you, and I trust Chantal to make the right call. I don't want to be a risk to either of you," Grant says.

"Let me figure out how to work this all out," Chantal says. "But for the two of you - it's worth the effort."

Grant smiles wide at her. "Thank you, Chantal. I very much hope all of this makes a difference. It's been a long time since I felt so idealistic about anything."

"Just let's not get caught. Orange would clash with my hair and Gerard's," she teases.

Grant laughs. "Indeed. Not mine, though."

"I like the shaved head," Gerard murmurs, leaning in and kissing his cheek. "Let's stop talking about orange jumpsuits and let this pretty lady go."

"Aww, thanks for noticing," Jimmy says, patting his hair ostentatiously. Grant laughs again, and Chantal does, too. She backs Jimmy against the wall and starts kissing him. Gerard and Grant beat a hasty retreat back to the bar.

"Grant," Gerard whispers in his ear, "I love it here, but I don't really want another drink more than I want to go home and do some kissing of our own."

Grant smiles. "That is exactly what I was thinking."

"Are Chantal and Jimmy dirtying up my dressing rooms again?" Jon asks with a put-upon sigh.

"I'm sure we wouldn't be able to tell you even if we knew," Grant demurs.

"Ugh," Jon says. "I was hoping the two of you would be a good influence on them."

"I don't know why you thought that," Gerard tells him. "Although we are going home."

Jon laughs and flips them off. "Get out of here, you crazy kids."

Grant smirks and grabs Gerard's hand. When they get out the door, Grant pushes him against the wall and kisses him breathless before they move on again. Gerard's hand tightens around his after that.

The tram ride, then the lifts, then the walk home seem interminable. Grant wants Gerard's hands on him now. He gets them in the door and almost trips over a black cat.

"Not now, Balthazar," he huffs, and Gerard giggles.

"You did it again."

"So I did," Grant says. "If you would like to have any input on the naming, you'd best give it now."

"I've been calling the calico Toulouse," Gerard says. "But I'd be happy to do this a little later..."

Grant laughs. "Yes, later. To the bedroom with us both."

Gerard actually drags him. Guess Grant's not the only one who's a little impatient. "I'm never going to get enough of you," Gerard breathes as he tugs Grant's jacket off his shoulders.

"God, Gerard," Grant replies, shrugging out of the sleeves and tossing it at a chair without looking. "I can't - tell me what you want, kitten."

Gerard tosses his own leather jacket toward the same chair and wraps his arms around Grant's neck. "Want you in my mouth," Gerard murmurs against his lips.

"Here?"

Gerard laughs, "No, in bed. I'm going to take my time." He practically licks his chops, and he's never looked more like a smug little cat than at that moment.

"I won't argue," Grant replies. Fuck, he wants that. He always wants it.

"Take off your clothes," Gerard says pertly. He's in a mood. Grant thinks he likes it and does as he's told. He keeps his eyes on Gerard as he does it, notes Gerard's expression, the way he bites his lip. He slows down when he sees the pink flush on Gerard's cheeks, peels his briefs off with his fingertips, and wraps a hand loosely around his cock. "Fuck, Grant. Need you in my mouth. Down my throat," Gerard murmurs.

"You might want to take off your clothes first," Grant tells him.

"Get on the bed," Gerard returns.

Grant does and looks up at Gerard. "Any other instructions, kitten?"

"Stop touching yourself," Gerard orders. "Mine."

Grant chuckles and slides his hand up his body. "As you wish."

Gerard peels off his clothes. Now he really is licking his lips and crawling up the mattress and generally looking like a wet dream. He slides his lips up Grant's thighs and over his hips. He kisses the scar on Grant's belly and down to the base of his cock.

"Ah, Gerard," Grant murmurs. He tangles his fingers in Gerard's hair the way he knows Gerard likes. Gerard takes his cock in hand and licks up the underside and over the head. Grant moans. Gerard is good at this - almost too good, if that were a thing that he could be. It makes Grant feel wild, feel like he's barely contained, and he knows it's only going to get more intense. What's more, he knows how much it gets Gerard off. Which is why he obeys each throaty instruction. Because when he finally gets his hands on Gerard he's going to fucking lose it.

Gerard slowly takes more of Grant into his mouth until he's swallowing around the head and humming low in his throat. Fuck, it's good, so fucking good. Grant hasn't known many guys in his life who were as good at this. Gerard wants him to move, too. He’s already gripping tightly onto Grant's hipbones and bobbing his head. Grant starts moving his hips slowly. Partly because he knows if he goes any faster, things will be over entirely too soon. Gerard encourages him with circular motions of his thumbs over Grant's hipbones.

He breathes deeply and keeps his pace slow and steady until he thinks he can handle faster. Gerard starts humming again. Grant makes an incoherent noise and tugs a little harder on his hair. It's not actually a request to stop. Gerard seems to know that since he merely works his throat and tongue. "Gerard," Grant babbles helplessly. "God, you feel so good. I can't believe I found you, I don't -" Gerard hums again, and Grant tightens his fingers in Gerard's hair. "Fuck, I love you," Grant breathes.

That makes Gerard whimper. Grant is so close, and Gerard keeps swallowing around him, keeps using his tongue. Grant won't hold out much longer, doesn't want to. He thrusts into Gerard's mouth, into the tightness of his throat, and groans helplessly. All it takes is Gerard swallowing around him again, and Grant is done, coming hard down Gerard's throat. His fingers are tight in Gerard's hair, and he's moaning wantonly.

Gerard pulls back, soothing with circular strokes of his hands, murmuring Grant's name after he's swallowed. Grant has no words. He can barely loosen his fingers in Gerard's hair. Gerard nuzzles up into his hands anyway.

"Come kiss me," Grant murmurs finally. Gerard crawls up toward him, and Grant tips him over into the pillows, licking into his mouth. He tastes like Grant. Like himself. Perfect. "Love you," he whispers between kisses. "So fucking much."

"I love you," Gerard breathes. "Touch me?"

Grant wraps a hand around his cock. "With pleasure." Gerard arches and moans. Grant lets Gerard rub up against him, stroking his cock while mouthing at his throat.

"Grant," Gerard moans. Grant starts moving his hand faster.

"So beautiful," he whispers against Gerard's throat. "I know you're ready. Come for me."

Gerard moans again, and his hips stutter, and he comes. Grant strokes him through it, then lifts his sticky hand. Gerard leans forward to lick his palm. When he's done, Grant leans in to kiss him, tongue stroking against Gerard's. It's a slow, lazy kiss, and they continue it for a long time.

"What's the next big story?" Gerard asks after a while, rubbing their cheeks together.

"I have no idea. Guess we'll find out, yeah?" Grant replies softly.

"Are you going to still need an assistant?"

"I don't know, but I'll certainly still need a boyfriend," Grant murmurs.

Gerard smiles. "I know. You don't… I wonder if Warren or Jamie know someone I could do design work for."

"I would be shocked if they couldn't manage something. Warren has connections all over New LA. Some are even aboveboard."

"I'll ask, then. I like the hacking, and it's a good challenge, but I'd like to try something different. See if I can make a go of it," Gerard replies.

"Maybe I'll have you set me up my own site after all these years of people nagging me," Grant adds.

"I could do that," Gerard agrees. "It'd be fun. I could plant all kinds of Easter eggs for people to find."

"Nudes," Grant says with a straight face.

Gerard bursts out giggling. "Of course. Maybe some video, too. Just to mix things up."

"I'd be into that, though," Grant admits with a sleepy nuzzle to Gerard's cheek. "Filming us - you."

"I'd… who am I kidding, I'd definitely be into it," Gerard murmurs back.

"Mmm. Maybe when we finish the article. We can go on holiday and do all manner of mad things."

"I like that idea," Gerard replies and kisses his shoulder.

"Anything for you, kitten," Grant adds, softly.

*

Nerves are churning Grant's belly as he and Gerard make their way toward the place they agreed to meet Chantal. Months of work will, hopefully, move that much closer toward their conclusion tonight. Gerard holds tightly to Grant's hand. He has since they left the apartment. He puts on a totally fearless front. Usually, Grant thinks, he mostly is, but they're going into unknown territory, and there's a lot of risk.

Chantal meets them at the appointed spot and hands Gerard a janitor's coverall. "Pest infestation in the server farm," she tells him. "It was actually Jimmy's idea."

Gerard grins maniacally. "Except the pest will be me."

"And I stole us some access badges that will get us there. We just have to stay off camera."

"Okay, I think I can do that," Gerard replies. "Cameras look like the usual sort?"

"High end, customized but mostly for looks," Chantal answers.

"I can sneak by those in my sleep. While high," Gerard says with a sharp smile.

"And you are neither tonight," Grant says, pinching him lightly.

"That's the best part," Gerard replies and steps into the coveralls. He pulls the sleeves up his arms.

Grant zips him up and then laughs. "Chantal, I hope you have a hat for him."

Chantal produces a baseball cap from her bag, and Grant helps Gerard put it on. She has a matching cap for herself. Grant looks them over and nods. "I will wait here for your call."

He goes into the nearest coffee shop, orders a coffee, and sits. He tries not to stare at his watch counting the seconds. It's the longest half hour of his life. Finally, his phone buzzes with a message, and Grant goes out to meet them.

What he finds is Gerard frantically stripping himself of the cap and coveralls. "Where's Chantal? What -"

Gerard shushes him. "Crosstown tram, now." Gerard leads him directly to the trams and gets on one going the opposite direction of the lift they need. The tram is crowded, and they move through lots of people until Gerard finds a place he likes for them to hold the bar and stand.

"Kitten, is all well?" Grant murmurs.

Gerard nods tightly. "Get off at the next station," he murmurs. He leads Grant down a level and then to the tubes on the next block. His phone buzzes. "Chantal? Good. Okay, good," Gerard says. "She's okay. Got home safe. I was the one… security came by. It was a little dicey for a hot minute."

"I assume you took care of it?"

"Uploaded a virus into the camera system before we left. They won't have anything to work with."

"And did you get what we need?"

A smile spreads across Gerard's face. "Fuck yeah, I did."

"I love you," Grant says, swinging Gerard up against a nearby building and kissing the shit out of him.

Gerard smiles against his lips and kisses back until an annoyed pedestrian tells them to, "get a fucking room, people are walking here."

"What do you say, baby?" Gerard says. "Got a room?"

"I can think of a place," Grant replies and tugs Gerard in the direction of the lifts.

*

 **More Arrests in MM Corp Scandal**  
by Geoff Johns, Staff Writer

Additional indictments were handed down by the New Los Angeles Municipal Court this week in the developing case against MM Corp. Freelance journalist Grant Morrison first broke the story in a series for Helix Magazine, alleging widespread corruption at the Mesa Inglewood plant, and a New Los Angeles police investigation has netted thirteen arrests to date, including plant management, union representatives, and government inspectors all involved in a web of negligence and payoffs. Detective Inspector Jim Lee of the NLAPD has been placed in charge of the growing investigation and has indicated that we may see more arrests before the week is out.

MM Corp has not released a statement to date, but anonymous sources within the company have indicated that this cover-up is longstanding. Helix Magazine staff have declined additional comment but are cooperating with the investigation. Morrison himself was also not available for comment, referring our staff to his website for links to his articles, indicating the matter was now in the hands of the authorities.

*

"The door got tagged again," Gerard says as he comes in with a few bags of groceries from the bodega.

"I'll talk to the super," Grant says with a sigh. It's rare for readers to find out where he lives and even rarer for that to be anything but a benefit to him. There aren't many people who are too displeased with him for revealing the truth about MM Corp, but the few who are continue to be pests. Grant knows he's lucky they never got worse.

"Maybe it's time to take Detective Lee up on that offer for increased foot patrols," Gerard says with a grimace.

"Perhaps so," Grant replies and draws Gerard against him. "I'd rather they not get braver."

"I like it here," Gerard frowns, "and so do the cats. They're not inside cats."

Grant has to laugh. Gerard has taken to their little brood fiercely. "As do I. We certainly aren't to the point of being driven away yet, and we'd be utterly incapable of finding another flat on this level with actual windows," Grant says. "We'll let Jim increase the patrols, and hopefully that will drive them away."

"Speaking of being driven away...Warren will be pissed if we're late."

"Warren is all talk," Grant says with a laugh. "But we should probably go down there, so we don't have to listen to him complain."

"He won't fire you, at least. Me on the other hand..."

Grant lays his fingers over Gerard's lips. "He's not stupid. Now get your jacket."

Gerard kisses Grant's fingers and pulls away. They're out the door within a few minutes and to the tram in a few more.

Jamie smiles when he sees them come through the door. "My favorite couple."

Gerard beams at him, but Grant is suspicious. "Warren is going to be horrifying about something, isn't he?"

"It's on his agenda for the afternoon. 'Conference call, ad approval, reign of terror.'"

Grant laughs. "We'll just have to be generally wary, then."

"Always the best policy with the old man," Jamie returns.

"I heard that, infant!" Warren roars from his office. They all laugh because no one takes Warren seriously, except for those times when his penchant for saying deeply profound things makes itself known. They troop into his office. He's tugging on his beard and looking at them speculatively. "What's this leave request I have in my email? You think the news stops while the two of you go off to fuck like bunnies on some beach?"

Grant rolls his eyes. "I think your subscriptions and the quality of writers you've been getting have gone significantly up since the end of our series, and haven't tapered off yet, so now is the ideal time for us to take a vacation. Gerard hasn't been to Baja yet."

"Oh, well, of course." Warren makes a face and types something on his keyboard. "Approved. Tell me what you're bringing me when you get back."

"A bottle of the tequila you can only find in that one small shop near La Bufadora that I know you love nearly as much as your favorite whiskey," Grant says easily.

"A story, you poxy Scottish bastard. Bring me a story. And tequila," Warren adds consideringly.

"Fine. A story. It'll be about local legends no one in New LA cares about," Grant warns.

"They always care when it's your byline," Warren says, sounding dependably aggrieved.

Grant just laughs. "I suppose this will be your test of that then, eh?"

Warren ignores him and starts going through his personal list of story ideas for the next ten minutes, punctuating the recitation with shouts for Jamie to remind him of things. Grant knows Gerard is only barely containing his laughter. He reaches out to squeeze Gerard's hand briefly, just because he can.

*

"La Bufadora," Grant says and gestures out at the water spraying up into the sky.

"It's a blowhole," Gerard says and giggles.

"Yes," Grant says indulgently. "It is. Only the finest natural phenomena for you, kitten."

"Hey, I totally read up. It's one of the largest blowholes in North America. That's totally impressive." He almost manages a straight face.

"I can't take you anywhere," Grant shakes his head.

Gerard giggles and leans into his side. "You love me."

"You love me," Grant replies, wrapping an arm around him. "Even though I forced you to go out in nature."

"I'd be happy to make a...strategic retreat..." Gerard's hand slips down to tuck inside Grant's back pocket.

"I could be talked into such a thing," Grant replies. "We should buy a blanket for your mum before we forget, though."

"And Warren's tequila." Gerard grins at him and tugs him back up the concrete steps. They walk up to the market that sprang up at the top of the hill back in the twentieth century. It's a total tourist trap, but it's fun to haggle over decorative blankets and alcohol. Grant buys Gerard a rosary. It's a nice piece, smooth wooden and turquoise beads, and Gerard kept touching it, so regardless of religious purpose he wants Gerard to have it. Gerard buys him a particularly hideous shirt, and Grant resolves immediately to wear it to deliver Warren's tequila.

They catch the shuttle back to their hotel, and presents are forgotten almost immediately. The room is dim, light greenish from the screen of tropical plants on the veranda outside; they both kick off their shoes at the door and pad across cool tile.The bed is frankly huge, and when Grant backs Gerard up to the edge and tips him onto the mattress, his hair practically glows against the white sheets. Grant takes a moment to admire him before covering Gerard's body with his. "You were saying something about a strategic retreat? Is this where you wanted to end up?" Grant murmurs.

"This is where I always want to end up," Gerard replies and tangles his legs with Grant's.

"Mexico?" Grant teases, nosing under Gerard's jaw and licking along his throat.

"In bed with you," Gerard murmurs. "Though Mexico certainly doesn't hurt anything."

"Well," Grant stretches, tugging Gerard's hands up above his head and pinning them lightly, "You're in bed with me. Now what?"

"Mmm. Anything. Just wanna feel you," Gerard replies.

"I will make sure you do." Grant smiles lazily when Gerard rolls them over and starts kissing across Grant's chest. Grant runs his hands through Gerard's hair and over his shoulders. He moans when Gerard's teeth tug at his nipple. "Biting is naughty, kitten," he murmurs, twisting strands of hair off Gerard's face.

"You like it when I'm naughty," Gerard says and licks over the nipple he just bit.

"True." He runs his nails lightly up and down Gerard's spine. Gerard hums his pleasure and leans up to kiss Grant.

"I vote more holidays in Mexico."

"I vote more holidays anywhere warm enough to get you out of your clothes," Grant says. "Take them off for me?"

"You, too," Gerard says and sits back on his knees. He pulls his shirt off and scrabbles with his jeans and underwear. Grant lifts his hips and shoves his own jeans down and sits up to remove his shirt. Gerard crawls over to help. It was already unbuttoned, so it's not a huge effort. The act lets Gerard spread himself over Grant and rub their cocks together, which is worth it.

Gerard kisses him again, cups the back of his neck. "Want you in me, but let's stay like this?"

"Get the lube," Grant tells him, getting comfortable against the headboard and waiting. Gerard gets the lube and straddles Grant's thighs. He pours some on his fingers and reaches behind himself, holding eye contact. "Show me how much you want it," Grant murmurs, stroking his fingers up and down Gerard's thighs. Gerard bites his lip and uses his fingers on himself. It doesn't take long before he's sliding a slick hand over Grant's cock and moving forward. "So soon?" Grant murmurs. But this isn't exactly their first time since they've been here. Grant's still leaking, hard and ready.

"Need you," Gerard murmurs and holds Grant's cock steady as he sinks down. They both gasp, but Gerard's mouth goes right to Grant's neck, sucking at the skin as he takes Grant inside him.

Grant slides his arms around Gerard's back and tilts his head to give him better access. "Feels like a miracle."

"You're the miracle," Gerard mumbles against his skin, starting a gentle roll of his hips. Grant moans and moves with him. He does love this position, loves that they can comfortably touch and kiss, loves the press of Gerard's skin against his. He steadies Gerard's hip with a hand as he rocks down, setting a slow pace. With the other he traces up Gerard's side, chest, neck, up to his hair. Grant lets it twine around his fingers and puts just enough pressure to make Gerard moan.

"You just take it for me, don't you, kitten? Take it from me, I should say."

"Always," Gerard breathes. "Fuckin'.... Always." He runs his lips down Grant's neck and sucks at the juncture of his shoulder. Gerard is going to give him such a mark, and he doesn't care one bit.

He thrusts up, and Gerard moans against his skin. "So close already," Grant murmurs. "This is what you do to me every time."

"Harder," Gerard urges him, grinding down. "Oh, fuck, harder." Grant grabs tightly to a handful of hair at the nape of Gerard's neck, tips his head back to kiss him hard. He reaches between them and strokes Gerard's shaft in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue. "Fuck," Gerard gasps.

Grant runs his thumb over the head of Gerard's cock and speeds up his hand. He wants to feel Gerard come around him. He brings their mouths back together, and Gerard gasps into the kiss with each pull on his cock. Grant thrusts up as hard as he can with Gerard weighing him down, holding on with his thighs, fingers biting into Grant's back. Gerard pushes into every touch of his lips and hands and uses his own hands to stroke up and down Grant's sides, to clutch his shoulders. Gerard's breathing hard, and Grant feels the tiny tremor in him just moments before he comes, arching back and moaning.

Grant keeps moving, spreading a hand across Gerard's back to hold him steady as he thrusts up, pressing his lips against Gerard's throat. He feels so good around Grant's cock, so fucking good, and Grant can hardly stand it. He thrusts up once, twice, three times and comes hard, arms tightening around Gerard and holding him close.

Gerard whimpers Grant's name into his ear, lips tickling the skin. "Love you," he whispers over and over until he has to take a breath. Grant kisses his hair, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

"Love you, too," Grant murmurs. He can't even begin to say how much.

After a few moments, Gerard moves back and pulls off, and they both gasp. He slips off the bed and pads over to the washroom to clean up, unconcernedly naked. Grant just leans back and watches. "You're so beautiful," he says when Gerard returns and hands him a damp flannel.

Gerard smiles and leans against his shoulder. "You're not half-bad yourself." He leans up to kiss Grant's cheek.

"Which half?" Grant teases him, and he loops an arm around Gerard’s shoulders to tug him closer.

"Whichever one I'm closest to at the time," Gerard replies and slides his arms around Grant's waist.

"Oh, you're good," Grant laughs, breathing in the sun-salt-sweat smell of Gerard's hair.

"I spend a lot of time around a really great writer," Gerard replies.

"Very good," Grant says and kisses Gerard's temple.

"I have to hold up my end of the deal somehow," Gerard says with a chuckle. He rubs his face against Grant's shoulder.

"I think any 'deals' we may have had have long been fulfilled," Grant says. "Now it's just you and me."

"And Foxy and Nicodemus and Toulouse and Balthazar and -"

Grant cuts him off with a kiss. He may be a good writer - that's not for him to decide. His exposés may be important - also not for him to decide. As far as Grant is concerned, the most important thing he does is taking in strays. Sometimes, like Gerard, they stay. That's the best reward of all.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget the [mix](http://fleurdeliser.dreamwidth.org/184538.html) and [art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/852596) created to go with this story!


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